


Detroit: Become Drabble

by BlackPrism



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Acrophobia, Apologies, Basketball, Connor (Detroit: Become Human) Feels Pain, Connor (Detroit: Become Human) Whump, Connor (Detroit: Become Human) is Bad at Feelings, Deviant Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Drinking, Drug Withdrawal, Drunk Hank Anderson, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Father-Son Relationship, Fever, First Aid, Fluff, Food Poisoning, Gavin Reed Being Less of an Asshole, Gavin Reed Being an Asshole, Gavin Reed Redemption, Hallucinations, Hangover, Hank Anderson Swears, Hank Anderson Whump, He is mean but tries to help, Headaches & Migraines, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Injury, Kidnapping, Mentioned Cole Anderson, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Overheating, Poison, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Pre-Deviant Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Prompt Fic, Protective Hank Anderson, Self Confidence Issues, Sensory Overload, Shooting, Sickfic, Sports, Tumblr Prompt, Vomiting, Withdrawal, request, shot, sick
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-06
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2019-07-27 08:47:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 52,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16215584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackPrism/pseuds/BlackPrism
Summary: Different short and long drabbles about the best dad and son duo, Connor and Hank Anderson. Other characters might appear too from time to time.Connor learns how to be human, Hank learns how to be himself. What happens in between is the story we will tell here.||Prompts very welcome!||





	1. Tainted Thirium

**Author's Note:**

> So, here I am, also writing a prompt challenge :')  
> There are a few rules, which are basically just: 
> 
> \- Nothing sexual, please.  
> \- I write mostly Hank and Connor, but will accept requests for other Characters from time to time too. So feel free to send those in too.  
> \- All genre are allowed, but I prefer to write hurt/comfort or angst *audible wink*  
> \- Ships are allowed, but no Connor/Hank, please. I don’t mind the ship, but I write them as father and son :)
> 
> I hope you have fun!

A rather short amount of time after the revolution, Connor found himself back in the one job he had ever been hired for - or rather built for -  in his entire, short life.

And things worked out pretty alright, at first at least. He became known in the precinct, first as the android detective, but later, as time went by and Connor managed to form his first, fragile bonds with some of his coworkers, he became known as that ‘one dude who licks everything’.

Connor was new to nicknames, but as it made both Hank and a lot of his colleagues grin like schoolboys, Connor didn’t complain.

He did indeed lick a lot of things, after all.

But this time, he wished he hadn’t.

It had been a dare. A stupid one at that.

Hank had gone out for a bite to eat, Connor staying behind this time. They had a bit of an argument on the way to work, and Connor wanted to give Hank some space. It seemed like the most socially acceptable thing to do.

So he kept working, writing a report for the newest case they had just closet, as a glass with opaque, blue liquid was slammed onto the table in front of him, startling him slightly.

Detective Reed stood beside Connor’s desk, looking the later straight in the eyes. 

“Drink it.”

Connor blinked, his LED twitching yellow for a moment, before turning a calm blue.

“Why would I do that?”

"Forensics are busy, and I need to know what this is. Now.”

Connor took a closer look at the liquid. It seemed to be Thirium. Not a lot. Only about 90, maybe 100 ml. It was inside a glass beaker, like the ones that were used down in the forensics lab. 

“It’s clearly Thirium.”

Gavin’s upper lip twitched, his hand shoving the beaker closer to Connor.

“I know what it is, dipshit.”

“Then why did yo-...?”

Gavin snarled. “You know what I want you to do. Pour that shit down your throat and tell me to what weirdo it belonged.”

Connor pushed the beaker back, slowly, with the tips of his fingers, not taking his eyes off of Reed.

“You should be able to acquire all the information you need from the forensics lab, you will only have to wait for a bit.”

“I don’t want to wait. You’re only good for licking shit, you’re here for that. So do it. Now.”

Connor sighed. Reed was always a hassle to deal with.

“No.”

“What? Too much of a chicken?”

“I don’t see how I resemble one.”

“Stupid fucker, I meant that you’re too much of a coward to drink it.”

Connor turned back towards his report.

“Oh, I see. You’re really too afraid to do anything without that old sack of shit next to you, aren’t you?”

That struck a nerve. 

Connor remembered his fight with Hank. How Hank insisted that Connor would be more careful, that Hank couldn’t always keep an eye on him. How something inside of Connor heated up at that. He didn’t need Hank to keep an eye on him. He was built for this work. He could handle it himself.

It had been such a stupid fight. Such a stupid thing to fight about. Connor didn’t mind Hank looking after him, but this wasn’t the first time somebody has commented on how....’useless’, ‘scared’, ‘lost’ Connor was without Hank. And Connor found he had quiet a...distaste for the feelings that raised in him.

He turned back to Gavin, sharply, took the beaker in his hand and poured its contents into his mouth. It had been completely unnecessary to actually drink the whole liquid, Connor was a state of the art prototype, he only needed the smallest amount for a full analysis. But the look of disgust on Detective Reed’s face was exactly what Connor had hoped for. And Connor didn’t mind some extra Thirium in his system.

“I have sent the information to your computer, Detective.”

Connor gave Reed a quick twitch of his mouth, not even bothering with a full, fake smile, before turning back towards his report.

\------

It took Hank 16 minutes to return - only acknowledging Connor with a grunt - and 10 more minutes to start working again. 

Connor counted the minutes. Not because he had no work to do anymore, but because a strange feeling had appeared in his system. A weird...pressure. Unpleasant. Almost...moving.

Connor tried to distract himself, counting the minutes it took Hank to come back, the minutes it took Chris to drink a coffee, how often Gavin threw annoyed looks at Connor.

Connor swallowed hard. The pressure had gotten worse. He should finish his work here quickly, he just wanted to get home and deal with this in peace and quiet. Hank would probably go to sleep right away, given the mood he was still in. And Sumo didn’t need much attention that late in the evening.

Connor started typing on his report again, stopping for a few moments now and then, to swallow, take a deep breath. It made the pressure that moved up his troath, under his tongue less distracting for some time. A strange, prickling sensation in his mouth, the production of his artificial salvia rising each time the pressure did.

A sudden warning, plopping up in front of him, ripped him from his thoughts.

_Tainted Thirium detected. Purge recommended_

That wasn’t good.

“Hey, what’s with the spacing out? Fowler will rip me a new one if we don’t hand this shit in on time.”

It took Connor a few moments to realize that Hank had spoken to him.

“I am sorry, Lieutenant. I will finish this now.”

Hank raised an eyebrow at Connor but turned his attention back to his own work.

Connor started typing, faster now. The pressure wouldn’t leave, and he just wanted to go home.

\------

Connor pressed his forehead against the cold glass of the front window, only half listening to the death metal blaring out of the small radio speakers, looking out of the car as Hank drove them home. Connor had noticed how his body temperature had increased over the short time it took him to finish his report. The pressure hadn’t left, but rather was now accompanied by a strange, light, stabbing in his abdomen.

Connor didn’t mention it to Hank. He didn’t want to upset the other more, didn’t wanted to provoke another argument so shortly after last one.

So he endured the unpleasant feeling that just worsened with each bump the car drove over.

 _Tainted Thirium detected. Purge recommended_  

The warning flashed in front of his optical units again, for the fifth time. He dismissed it again. He would deal with it once he was alone.

Hank suddenly turned down the music and pushed a hand against Connor’s shoulder, shaking him slightly. The shaking made something inside of him twitch, Connor clenching his teeth at the feeling.

“What’s up with you today”, Hank said, not taking his eyes off of the road. “You still sulkin’ ‘bout this morning?”

“No.”

“So what’s with the silence and those fuckin’ weird blank stares the whole day long?”

“I am sorry if I confused or upset you, but I am quiet alri-..”

_Tainted Thirium detected. Purge will be executed in 0:05_

“Hank stop the car.”

“What?”

Connor had already one hand on the door handle, another covering his mouth. 

“Stop the car!” he shouted through his fingers, lunging out of the car before it even came to a full stop.

He was on his knees, his body suddenly shaking, hot, unable to stand any longer.

“Con, shit, you alright?”

Connor tried to answer but retched instead. A few drops of Thirium landed on the dusty ground. He retched again, throwing up more than a mouthful of Thirium.

“Holy shit!”

Connor coughed, his body trembling as he brought up more of his own blood, gasping for air to at least try and cool his overheating systems.

_Purge complete. Tainted Thirium has been expelled._

Connor could have snorted at that. Great, thanks, he wouldn’t have noticed otherwise that the Thirium wasn’t in his system anymore. Not like he himself had just witnessed it make a reappearance.

He only then noticed a pressure on his back, rubbing in circles while he still panted, breathing in great lungfuls of air to try and get rid of the stifling heat in his body.

“Better out than in, I know what I’m talkin‘bout.”

Connor tried to push himself up into a standing position, used to having to recover in only moments, not having the opportunity to let himself take a break. But that was before he had deviated. His legs gave out before he even managed to properly crouch.

“Hey, easy there ya fuckin’ moron. You just spit out half of your blood, maybe don’t try and run off immediately?”

“I am fine. I have...consumed some Thirium that hadn’t been...in perfect condition.”

Hank groaned.

“Why in the fuck would ya do that?”

“Detective Reed wanted to have it analyzed.”

“Since when do you do a single, goddamn thing he asks ya to?”

Connor avoided looking at Hank, as he let himself be pushed backwards, until he was sitting on the ground, instead of kneeling, leaning heavily against Hank.

“My..judgement had been slightly..corrupted at that moment.”

“Uh...?”

“He implied that I am too much of a coward to act without you being present.”

Hank swore under his breath, shaking his head, before swearing loud enough to wake half of Detroit.

“That fuckin’ asshole....And why did ya even listen to him? That’s bullshit, ‘n ya know it.”

Connor turned his head, not only avoiding looking at Hank now but doing his best to turn as far from the other as possible.

“Is it?”

“Yeah, ‘course.”

“Than why do you deem it necessary to protect me in every dangerous situation, to always keep an eye on me, if you don’t think that I am unable to act without your supervision?”

Hank said nothing for a few moments. Then he smacked Connor against the back of his head.

“That’s for being an idiot. You’re good on your own, you're fuckin’ great. Don’t expect me to say that again by the way.”

Hank placed an arm around Connor’s shoulders, pulling him closer.

“You’re family, son. Where I’m from, we look after family. Can’t really stop doing that, can’t really stop worrying when you plunge yourself of a fuckin’ building to chase after some suspect.”

Connor’s LED spun yellow, his eyes still not meeting Hank’s. The LED flashed a brief, dull red for less than a moment and turned back to blue.

“I..think I understand.”

Hank gave Connor a pat on the back, getting back up on his feet with an ‘oof’, reaching out a hand to help Connor up.

“Well, what’re we sitting here for then. Sumo has probably eaten half the furniture by now, better get home and feed that big, ol’ mutt.”

Connor got up on shaking legs, leaning against Hank as they walked the few steps to the car.

“ ‘n some of that blue bullshit for ya, don’t need ya keeling over on me.”


	2. Booze and Birthdays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It would have been Cole's birthday. Hank isn't taking it so well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hhhhh, this was fun to write.
> 
> |||| Prompts are very welcome! |||

Connor had a built-in piece of software that told him the exact time, date, and how much time each and every action or occurrence took.  
But the funny thing about deviancy was, androids became less of a machine and more of a living being, which prompted the tracker, all models had built in, to turn off. But the tracker wasn’t the only thing that turned off.  
Many things weren’t automatically activated from waking from sleep mode, once an android became deviant. They could, of course, all be turned on manually, but...only a few androids bothered to do so, and usually only for short amounts of time.  
To check the time, their current location, their objectives (which had turned into memos, ranging from shopping lists to reminders. Not that androids were very prone to forgetting things, but it was always better to be safe than sorry) and other software they didn’t necessarily need anymore to live free and sentient.

So it was no surprise that Connor didn’t know what day it was when he entered the dimly lit house after a day of exploring the city. He had become quite fond of exploring every nook and cranny, memorising the layout of the entire city, so he wouldn’t have to rely on his GPS to tell him where he was.  
Connor wondered briefly at the silence and darkness, usually, he was always greeted with the sound of the TV, Hank shouting something at it or at Sumo, popcorn popping on the stove, music blasting out of speakers, anything, just not this total lack of sound. Not even the faint snores of Hank. And no note that told Connor that Hank had gone out.

The lack of light was almost as disturbing as the lack of sound, maybe even more. Because it wasn’t completely dark. One lamp was turned on, the small, dim one in the kitchen. The one in which the bulb would have to get replaced soon, it was dying out already.  
Connor closed the door behind himself, shutting out the cold September air, took off his coat and shoes and walked slowly towards the kitchen. This scene looked all too familiar. There were certain dates that...Connor switched one of his dormant programs on for a split second and felt something cold and sick crawl up in him. He hadn’t noticed.

Today was Cole’s birthday.  
Or would have been if the boy hadn’t died an unnecessary, unfair death, because a fit enough surgeon was high on red ice and an android, one who didn’t have the necessary experience, had to perform the surgery.  
Connor could have smacked himself. How could he have forgotten about today? He had been so busy, playing with his new freedom, discovering things he had never even thought about before, that it had somehow slipped his mind. His mind, the mind of a state of the art prototype with hundreds, even thousands of terabytes of memory storage.

Connor walked into the kitchen, not saying a word when he found Hank, sitting on the floor and leaning heavily against the cupboard behind him, an empty bottle of whisky beside himself, a half-full one clutched in his hand, a still full one standing beside him. He seemed to have prepared for this day. Connor had the urge to slap himself again for not noticing, but instead, he let himself sink down onto the floor, next to Hank.

This wasn’t the first time Connor had found him like this. The first few times, Hank had been rather...hostile. He hadn't been completely sure about Connor, seeing him as a friend but not a very close one. As time went by, Hank became less...aggressive, not bothering anymore to lash out. Connor had seen him at his worst, many times. It was too late to push him away now. And Connor was sure that they both had gotten closer over the past few months. Hank had even called him ‘part of his family’.

Connor put an arm around Hank’s shoulders, still quiet, giving the other man all the time and space he needed. Connor wasn’t very socially advanced yet, but he knew how to handle this. He knew what to do in this situation.

Hank took a swig from the bottle, his eyes still looking somewhere into the distance.

“He w’s so small…”

Connor pulled Hank closer as the later started speaking, his voice hoarse and slurred.

“I barely ev’n….we’d so lil time...It’s not fuckin’ fair!”  
Hank shouted the last words out, before taking another, deeper swig from his bottle. Connor rubbed his hand over Hank’s arm in a slow and comforting manner, still not saying a word himself, but listening.

“Had to get’im to that fuckin’ dentis’ appointm'nt, didn’t I? Tha’ fuckin’ ice, tha’ fuckin’ truck, tha’ fuckin surge’n, high ‘n red ice.”  
Hank made a choked sound, like he was trying to laugh, but unable to actually do it.  
“Would’ve raided his place the next fuckin’ day..jus’ one fuckin’ day...if I’d...if I’d been earlier…”

Hank’s head sagged to the side, leaning onto Connor’s shoulder, silent tears soaking into the fabric of Connor’s hoodie. Hank usually wasn’t one to cry, not even drunk, or to seek physical comfort. But this day wasn’t a usual day.  
Connor slowly took the partly empty bottle from Hank’s hand, placing it on the floor beside himself and out of Hank’s reach. Then, he started talking for the first time since he had entered the house, his voice quiet, calm.

“Do you remember when I told you about almost shooting Markus?”

“ ‘cours..”

“Do you remember how I couldn’t bring myself to sit still, to sleep, to do anything, so afraid of what could have been?”

“Yeah…”

“And do you remember what you told me?”

“Mh...yeah. told ya tha’ there w’s n’point thinkin’ ‘bout could’ve, would’ve, should’ve. That ya shoul’ learn from it and move on.”

Connor wrapped his other arm around Hank, pulling him into a full hug, Hank not protesting as he bonelessly sagged against Connor.

“So I hope you won’t mind that I will tell you a similar thing now. There are many things that could have gone different, many things that you, and others, could have done another way. But you don’t know how the outcome could have been different”, Connor spoke in a calm voice as he rubbed slow, gentle circles over Hank’s back.  
“If you hadn’t driven Cole to his appointment on that day, something could have happened on the next day or the one after that. If you had raided the surgeon's apartment building the day before, another surgeon could have worked that day, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that he would have been sober, or would have had the necessary skill to perform such an operation.”

Hank let out a strangled sob.

“There are endless possibilities for what could have happened and there is no way to know in what they would have resulted. Cole wouldn’t have wanted you to beat yourself up over all those possibilities, he would have wanted you to learn from what happened and move on. Like you have told me to. He would have wanted you to live the life you still have in front of you, not go mad, trying to find a way you could have prevented his death.”

Hank slowly wrapped shaking, uncoordinated arms around Connor and took a few deep breaths.

“Than’s Con. Dunno what I would do without ya…”

“Probably eat fast food for every meal.”

Hank let out a weak chuckle, letting Connor pull him to his unsteady feet and help him to his bedroom.

\------

Hank woke up to death. Not actual death, he mourned as he tried to stop the hammering in his skull. But close enough, without the relief of actually...well, not being alive to feel this anymore. Two bottles of whisky and god knows how much beer had been a shitty idea. But he was sure he wouldn’t have survived that day without getting drunk off his ass.

Hank rolled out of his bed with a groan, feeling the strange, hollow, sinking feeling he always felt after one of...those days.  
And he really didn’t want to get up, but remembered, albeit hazily, that Connor had taken care of him the day before. And he wouldn’t be able to deal with himself if he stayed in bed and let that plastic prick worry, instead of at least thanking him. Or maybe like...a grateful nod? A high five? A thankful look? Something that didn’t require talking or moving.

Hank shuffled out of the room, raising one eyebrow as he noticed how...dim the rest of the house was. All blinds were drawn, and only a small amount of light filtered through them. The house was also not smelling like breakfast like it usually did every morning, something Hank really didn’t mind. He already felt like throwing up, he didn’t need anything that made that worse.  
He found Connor on the couch, sitting next to one of Hank’s large pillows and a blanket, gesticulating to Hank to sit down there, once Hank grumbled out a greeting.

“Wha’s that then?” Hank asked as he pointed at the makeshift bed on the couch. Connor usually slept there, but this wasn’t his blanket and pillow.

“I guessed that you would feel...under the weather, as one would say. So I have made sure you can get the rest you need,” Connor looked over at the coffee table, Hank following him with squinting eyes. Moving his head was a bad idea.  
“I have also found some painkillers and bought a few isotonic drinks and left them here on the table.”

Hank gave Connor a look, which made Connor’s LED spin yellow for a moment.

“Did I...do something wrong?”

Hank barked out a laugh, which faded into a groan as he pressed his hand against his forehead. Shit, that hurt.

“No, shit...kid, ya haven’t done anythin’ wrong. I did. I got drunk off my ass yesterday, and now you’re not even annoyed by it? The hell’s going on?”

Connor bit his lip, something he had started to do only recently, whenever he was nervous or deep in thought.

“I...know what day yesterday was.”

“Oh..right..yeah, figured you would know that..”

“And..even though I don’t approve your drinking, I understand why you do it. I have tried to...forgett certain parts of my past too, especially in the few weeks after the revolution.”

“Hm..”

“And I know that I can’t understand how you feel, but know that whenever you need me, I will be there.”

Hank turned his face away, trying to bring the emotions that had suddenly bubbled up in him under control. Shit, he was getting soft, wasn’t he? He cleared his throat and turned his head back towards Connor.

“I...Thanks, I appreciate it.”

Connor gave him a smile, one of those real ones that had been rare at first, but were now present almost every day.

“I thought we could watch some TV until you feel up to eat something and could order some food?”

“You would let me eat fast food? Never expected that.”

“Well, I could also cook something. I found a recipe for…”

“No, no, fast food sounds great. Would love to eat something...unburnt and seasoned.”

Connor chuckled at that, turning the TV on.

“If I am correct you haven’t seen yesterday's game, so I found a channel that shows it again.”

“Sounds great. Just ‘xcuse me for a moment.”

Hank left in a sudden hurry and Connor grimaced slightly at the retching that echoed from the bathroom walls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I live on feedback and will love you forever if you leave a comment <3


	3. Overheating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gavin and Connor get kidnapped. And it gets worse...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, look, more Gavin. :3
> 
> ||| Accepting more prompts|||

“Wake up tin can!” Gavin kicked Connor’s limp form on the floor. He would have loved to shake him awake, maybe get a few good punches in too, but being tied up didn’t give Gavin a way to actually do that.

It was just his luck. Having to work with that fucking plastic detective because Lieutenant Old Sack was home, sick. And then, to top it all of, some weirdo shocked Connor with a taser, before doing the same to Gavin. He had woken up only minutes ago in this damp, dimly lit room. No windows, one door. He himself bound, thankfully not gagged and unhurt apart from a headache and burn in his chest from the taser.

Connor was on the floor in front of Gavin, not restrained in any way, but unconscious, damp, blue spots on the front of his shirt.

Probably from their attacker. Gavin didn’t really care. Not like androids felt pain, just pretending to. And not like Gavin would give a shit if this piece of trash felt pain.

 

He kicked Connor again. “Hey! Trash! Wake up!” Gavin was getting impatient. They had to get out of here, he hated being locked in. And he especially hated overtime that wouldn’t get paid. But Connor didn’t budge.

 

“Shit, fucking damn it. Can’t believe this..”

 

Gavin grumbled under his breath as he tried to loosen the ropes that held his hands, fidgeting from side to side. But the ropes were thick, and he felt multiple, tight knots, which wouldn’t budge. Great. Just fucking wonderful.

Gavin growled as he tugged harder, angry at himself, the ropes and the whole goddamn situation. He gave Connor another, frustrated kick before he tried to get up onto his feet. His legs were bound to each other, but if he managed to keep his balance, Gavin could actually stay standing.

But just as he started rolling onto his side, so he would be able to get onto his knees first, a creaking sound came from the door to his right.

 

The door opened slowly, deliberately slowly, and a person stepped into the room. A bald man, definitely smaller than Gavin, and rather heavy. He didn’t pay any attention to neither Connor nor Gavin as he stepped inside, carrying a small paper bag in his right hand.

 

“Hey, you, what the fuck!?”

 

The man didn’t react to Gavin’s shouts, instead walked towards the centre of the room, dipped his hand into his bag, fished a small bottle with some kind of liquid in it out of the bag and placed it onto the floor. He took a step forward and repeated the same thing again, and again, and again until six bottles were standing on the floor, neatly placed one, next to the other.

 

“Listen to me you fuckin’ asshole! I’m talking to you!”

 

Gavin fought against his ropes again. This man was definitely the same that had attacked them.

The man finally turned towards Gavin, a strange smile spread over his lips. Too wide, frozen, fake. He took a few steps towards the bound man, stopping right next to where Connor was laying on the floor. Gavin felt something crawl up his spine as he looked at the man's face. He hadn’t had time to take a closer look at him, back when he shocked both Gavin and Connor. But now…

The man had a bloodshot eye, a streak of dried blood, running down the same side of his face. Somebody seemed to have cut a hole into his temple, jammed a LED in it, put some kind of...glue? maybe something else, around it. It was a bizarre sight. The man dipped his hand into the bag again, pulling something long and something rectangular out of it, before dropping the bag unceremoniously to the floor.

 

“Well, well, well, look who’s awake.”

 

His voice was..nothing unusual. Not too high. Not to low. One you would expect to hear outside, passing by a stray conversation. But not in a small, damp, empty cellar.

 

“The fuck you want with us? We’re cops, you are in deep shit now.”

 

Gavin snarled at the man as the later took a few steps forward, now standing right in front of Gavin, leaning forward as if he wanted to inspect his victim. The man held up one of the objects he had pulled from the bag, and Gavin could barely keep a sound of panic from leaving his mouth as he saw a long syringe, filled with a large amount of some clear liquid. Gavin kicked out, but the man easily dodged the jerky movement and took a few steps back again.

 

“Poison.”

 

Gavin only stared.

 

“I knew you two were perfect the moment I saw you. You hate him, don’t you?” The man twitched his head towards Connor’s still form. “And he’s a deviant. Perfect. Just perfect.”

 

The man looked at the syringe in his hand, turning from side to side, the frozen grin still plastered over his face.

 

“Just who I need to test a theory of mine.” The bald man turned his attention back to Gavin. “You see, Androids have often sacrificed their lives to save a human life. Programmed to do that of course. But now that they have deviated...well, I have started wondering how much of that programming is still there. How much they have actually changed. So you two are just perfect.”

 

“The fuck are you talking about? Better let us go now and you might not get shot once backup arrives. Not that I give a flying fuck about what happens to you.”

 

“Well, do you know why you two are so perfect?” The other continued like he hadn’t heard a word Gavin said. “Because you two hate each other. You hate him, I clearly saw that from the first moment. He, of course, has to hate you back, there is no other way. The only logical reaction. He would never sacrifice his life for somebody he hates, wouldn’t he? Nobody would. So this is just perfect.”

 

Gavin kicked out again as the man walked towards him, syringe raised.

 

“Listen closely. 6 bottles with antidote. Only one fits. Tell him to analyze your blood, analyze the bottles, find the right one.” The man sighed as Gavin kicked out again, raising the other object he had held in his hand, the taser. Gavin groaned. Shit.

The man took another step forward, and Gavin felt his body spasm as the taser was jammed into his abdomen. Hot, white pain clouded his vision for a split second before it abruptly faded to black.

 

Gavin woke up to a sorer body and promptly threw up on the floor next to him. Shit, whatever that fucker had given him, it burned his body from the inside like acid.

Gavin sat up with a groan, leaning heavily against the wall behind him, as he took in the room again. The man was still there. Sitting on the floor next to Connor, that frozen smile still present, as if it couldn’t leave.

 

“Ah. Finally awake. I thought I set my little friend here to high.” The man gave an empty, unnatural chuckle as he held up his taser. “Well, it’s time to activate your friend. Or rather this android, I doubt I can call him your friend.”

 

The man fumbled with Connor’s shirt, tore it and ran his fingers over Connor’s chest. Something clicked and a plate opened. The man didn’t hesitate to stick the taser inside and press the button.

Connor sat up abruptly, an agonized scream, laced with static tearing from his troath. Gavin felt something in him clench with sympathy. Shit, why did they had to build these fuckers so humanlike?

Connor sagged in on himself the moment the taser left the opening in his chest, the hole closing immediately, fake skin creeping over it to cover the plastic beneath.

 

“Well, now that we are all here, how about I tell you the other rules for this little game to work.”

 

“The fuck is this, Saw?”

 

Gavin sneered at the man, the later’s smile twitched for a moment, almost dropping.

 

“Don’t interrupt.” The man turned towards the door, walking up to it until he could rest his hand on the handle. “I have made a small cut on your hand so the android can test your blood. And...damaged a few of his parts. He is overheating and analyzing just really warms an androids heart. So we, or rather I will watch and see if he chooses to save your life and risk his own, or if he lets you die to save himself. More information, more knowledge, another step closer for me to become one of them.”

 

The man opened the door and stepped outside, poking his head back in just before he completely closed the door. “Oh, and don’t try to hold back. Tears, screams, everything. I love a good show.”

Then the door closed and Gavin was left staring after the man with wide eyes. What the actual…?

 

“Detective….Reed?”

 

Gavin turned his head towards Connor, ready to bark something at the android but once he saw Connor’s face, he stopped himself. Connor looked...lost. Confused. Panting hard, his eyes unfocused.

 

“That fucker did a real number on you, didn’t he plastic trash?”

 

Connor only looked at him with bleary eyes, his LED spinning slowly, a dim yellow pulsing from inside of it.

 

“I...am not quite sure who you are referring to. I seem to...miss a few memories..”

 

“Some fucker tased us, threw us in here, bound me up and fucked with your creepy inside..somehow.”

 

Connor looked at the floor for a moment, before lifting his gaze again.

 

“I seem to be..overheating.”

 

“Fucker said something like that.”

 

Connor finally seemed to notice his surroundings, turning his head from side to side to take in the room. It was a parody of his usual analytic look, painfully slow movements, half-lidded eyes, mouth slightly open, face rather slack.

He noticed the bottles, squinting his eyes as he tried to understand what he was seeing in front of him.

 

“What…?”

 

“Antidote. That psycho gave me some kind of poison. That’s what I need you for...god this is gross...analyze my blood and the bottles and tell me which one I need.”

 

Connor turned towards Gavin, looking at him with a blank stare for a few moments, not saying a word.

 

“Come on freak, get a move on.”

 

Connor jerked out of his sagged position, tried to push himself up on shaking legs, but ended up crawling towards Gavin.

 

“How do...do I analyze..?”

 

“Don’t ask me, I have no fucking idea how you creeps work.” Gavin outstretched both of his still bound together hands, shoving Connor the cut on his left. It wasn’t very deep and had long stopped bleeding. “Here, fucker cut me. Do what you gotta do.”

 

Connor squinted his eyes again, leaning in closer as if he couldn’t see what was in front of him properly. Then he suddenly stuck his tongue out, licking over the cut on Gavin’s hand.

Gavin made a sound of disgust, kicking Connor away from him with one swift motion, Connor falling over and staying on the floor, his eyes open and staring at the ceiling.

 

“Shit, what the fuck is wrong with you!”

 

It took Gavin a few moments to realize that Connor had analyzed his blood, the same way he analyzed everything. A small part of him felt bad for kicking Connor. But he ignored it.

Well, he ignored it until Connor suddenly started shaking, fine tremors running through his body, his hands clenched so tight, small drops of blue were running over his skin.

 

“Fuck, I broke it!”

 

Gavin panicked for a moment. This fucker wanted to watch how Connor would react, something that would buy them time until backup arrived. Gavin knew it would take some time to track them down, and had no idea what the man would do if Connor broke. Probably kill Gavin too and search for two new test subjects. Shit.

 

“Shit, fuck, come on, stop this.”

 

Gavin gave Connor a few light kicks with the tips of his feet, but Connor stayed rigid and shaking, his LED spinning a dull, slow red. Gavin noticed the warmth that was suddenly seeping trough the room.

 

“You’re like my old laptop, fuck’s sake..”

 

Suddenly, as fast as it had started, the shaking stopped, Connor’s body going limp in an instant, his eyes closing, his LED melting to yellow.

His eyes opened slowly only moments later and he sat up, disoriented and dizzy, his body rocking back and forth as a drunk man would.

 

“I...have finished my analysis. I..I am…..I am now able to…”

 

Connor furrowed his brows, sagging in on himself again, his head snapping back up all of a sudden to look at Gavin.

 

“I am now...able to find the fitting antidote.”

 

“You look shit.”

 

“I am...Analyzing will overheat my...my system further…”

 

Connor was panting, pale and sweating. Gavin never knew androids could sweat. Gavin also didn’t know why that suddenly interested him. He didn’t give a shit about this plastic piece of trash.

 

“Well, what are you waiting for? Analyze those fucking antidotes so I don’t have to die in this shitty backdrop for a wannabe Saw remake.”

 

Connor gave Gavin an empty look before he turned his head and spotted the bottles again, slowly crawling towards them, near enough to reach the one at the far left.

Connor opened the lid with some difficulties, put the bottle to his mouth and took a small, careful sip.

Gavin watched him close his eyes, Connor’s face get a shade paler, his body suddenly twitch and spasm, hit the ground.

 

“Shit! What the fuck is wrong with you!?”

 

Connor was panting hard, his LED spinning a bright red, his body convulsing like he was having a seizure. Gavin felt that his heart skip a beat. Shit, he didn’t care about this piece of scrap metal. He didn’t. It was just...he just looked so human. And Gavin was a cop. He couldn’t just sit idly by and watch somebody suffer.

He managed to scoot a bit closer but didn’t do anything else. Why was he trying to help a fucking android? Not like that piece of shit could actually feel real pain or discomfort.

 

Connor’s body went limp after a few more moments, his arms and legs twitching a few more times before he opened his eyes, turning his head towards Gavin. His eyes were...flickering. The colour there, but not really. Like a broken display.

 

“This one isn’t compatible.”

 

“Well shit. Try the next one.”

 

Connor sat up slowly and tried the next, his body spasming again as soon as he had placed the bottle back down. It took him even longer to stop shaking, and once he woke again, he stayed on the floor, not moving.

 

“Not this...one..either..” Connor’s voice was strained.

 

Gavin felt slightly sick at the sight before him. It’s just a fucking machine. Just a machine. Don’t give a shit. Don’t care. But he still couldn’t stop himself from asking.

 

“What’s with the...shaking?”

 

“My..my…..my system….I….I am sorry Detective Reed, I seem to have forgotten your question..”

 

“Shit, that’s really messing you up, isn’t it?”

“I would...like to take a break.”

 

Connor looked so pathetic, panting, sweating, still twitching slightly. Gavin sighed.

 

“Yeah, fine. But if I die because of you, I’m filing a complaint.”

 

“That is acceptable..”

 

The room was quiet apart from Connor’s laboured breathing and a sound not unlike a computer fan.

Gavin looked Connor over another time.

 

“So...the shaking. What’s up with that?”

 

Connor turned his head to his side, his eyes half-lidded, looking up at Gavin.

 

“My system is overheating...the..heat is causing some..malfunctions…”

 

“So you’re just like a regular computer in the summer.”

 

“I...think so..?”

 

Gavin suddenly felt sharp paint shoot through his abdomen, before he found himself throwing up again. He watched with morbid fascination as he spat out something red. Blood. Shit.

 

Gavin only noticed that Connor had moved, as he raised is head again, still swallowing thickly, his upper lip twitching from the lingering taste in his mouth. Connor was kneeling in front of the next bottle.

 

“Was about time you got done with your little break.”

 

“Your condition is...is worsening..I..”

 

Connor shook his head quickly before he raised the bottle to his mouth with shaking hands. He barely managed to place it back down, almost spilling it as he suddenly doubled over with a low groan, his body twitching and shaking again. Gavin couldn’t stop himself from lurching forwards as much as the ropes would let him, both of his bound arms outstretched before he realized what he was doing. Shit, this goddamn android looking so human, behaving so human.

 

Connor panted harder than before, his eyes screwed shut.

 

“So..hot...I can’t….I can’t…..”

 

His voice was laced with static and...pain. Gavin couldn’t believe how real it sounded. And he couldn’t stop himself any longer.

He moved forward, half jumping awkwardly, half dragging himself over the floor until he was next to Connor.

 

“Take that fucking jacket off. And the shirt too.” Gavin kept his voice steady as if he was just giving an order to an android. His bound hands fumbled with the jacket, pulling it off of Connor with some difficulty. Gavin didn’t know why he was doing this. The shirt came next, easier to remove since it was already torn at the front. Gavin was shocked at how..hot Connor felt. He was like a radiator, cranked up high.

 

Connor whimpered as the cold air hit his skin. It was so welcome but stung painfully at the same time. Gavin watched as the spasms died down to light shivers, but those persistet, even as Connor straightened up again as far as he could. His posture was hunched over, his arms wrapped around himself, tears were mingling with sweat on his face. Shit. Tears. Gavin had never seen this prick cry.

 

“Shit...that was….something. You ok?”

 

Gavin growled at himself for asking it, if it was alright. Just a piece of plastic. Just a machine. But at the same time...Crying from pain. Whimpering. Gavin wasn’t so sure anymore.

 

“I...I am…And...Not this...not this one..”

 

Connor’s voice was fading in and out like somebody was playing with the volume button of a radio. The static sound had returned, making him sound definitely not human. But something inside of Gavin still wasn't so sure. Did this piece of trash...maybe actually feel pain?

 

“Ok….three down, two to go. If those two aren’t it, the last one’s gotta be it.”

 

Connor turned his head towards the other bottles, his eyes shimmering with..something strange. Fear? Yes. Fear and confusion.

 

“I..I don’t remember what….”

 

“Antidote. For the poison, that fucker pumped into me.”

 

Connor looked back at Gavin for a few moments, blinking slowly, before turning back to the bottles, picking up the next one. Gavin felt his hand twitch as if to stop Connor. But why should he do that? He would die if he didn’t get the antidote soon. The burn in his body was growing stronger, and his head was starting to feel light.

Connor had some trouble to get a good grip on the next bottle, it kept slipping from his hands, until he clutched it in both, lifting it up to his mouth, his body still shaking.

This time he had no time to put the bottle down. It fell to the floor with a clatter, rolling to the side, spilling some of its contents over the floor. Gavin swore loudly, but his voice died in his troath as he saw Connor curl up on himself on the floor, twitching, panting, his hands buried in his hair, clawing at his head. _Screaming._

 

“It hurts! It...It hurts! Please! Please stop! Please! It’s...It’s so hot! Please…!”

 

Gavin couldn’t keep back anymore. For a moment he didn’t care what Connor was. He just wanted to help him.

Gavin placed his hands onto Connor’s scorching hot skin, rubbing them gently over the other's arm, his ropes keeping him from doing much more.

 

“It’s ok tin can, just breath, it’s gonna be over soon.”

 

Connor’s screams died down to hoars whimpers, his whole body still shaking as he opened his eyes, bleary and glistening with tears.

 

“Not it….Poison.”

 

Shit. That fucker had smuggled poison amidst the antidotes. So much to only two to go...Connor would have to analyze all of them, or Gavin might chug even more poison, thinking it was the right antidote.

 

“It...It hurts…I….I’m so hot...”

 

Connor’s voice was shaking and weak, more static than any other sound. Gavin felt a lump form in his troath. Shit, he wasn’t ready to deal with this.

 

“Shit...it’s ok alright? You can just...take a break.”

 

Connor whimpered again, pressing himself closer to the cold, stone floor. Shit.

 

“Or..well, you don’t have to keep doing this. Backup’s gotta be here soon.”

 

Connor looked at Gavin again, brow furrowed.

 

“Your...condition is worsening...the chances that you will….survive are…..are….”

 

Connor’s gaze drifted through the room, his voice dying down mid-word. He blinked slowly, before pressing his face back onto the cold floor.

 

“It burns…”

 

Gavin couldn’t believe this. He was feeling sympathy for an android. And...he wasn’t as disgusted with himself as he would have expected. This piece of trash clearly felt pain. He was clearly suffering, just to save Gavin’s life. That was enough to make Gavin rethink a few things.

Gavin coughed, clutching his chest at the burn now growing more painful there. Blood splattered over the floor. This was definitely not good.

 

Connor suddenly rolled onto his side, propping his head up with his left arm, while grabbing the next bottle with his other. He pulled it closer, barely lifting it off the ground, before sticking his tongue into it, licking the liquid.

The reaction was immediate. Connor fell to the side, rolled onto his back, rigid as a board, every muscle in his body tense. Gavin watched in shock as Connor twitched from how tense his body was. Then suddenly he spasmed hard, his hands coming up to his chest, his troath, clawing at it as he erupted into loud, agonized screams, not able to form any coherent words anymore.

 

Gavin jumped forward, his head getting lighter than before for a moment, making him stumble and fall on his face, his bound hands making it hard for him to catch himself properly. But he paid no attention to his bleeding and throbbing nose as he pushed himself up again, grabbed Connor’s arms as good as he could, and pinned them in place, keeping Connor from scratching at his already bleeding skin.

 

“Shit, Connor, listen to me! Focus on my voice! It’s going to be over soon!” Gavin couldn’t keep the panic out of his voice.

Connor’s screams became more garbled, turned into pure static coming out of his mouth. His body was burning to the touch, twitching rolling from side to side, trying to somehow get away from the heat building up inside of it.

And then Connor went limp. Completely. From one moment to the other, his eyes open and looking at the ceiling with a glassy look.

 

“Shit!” Gavin turned Connor’s head, almost collapsing with relief as he saw the LED still pulsing a faint, dim red. He was still alive. Barely, but still alive.

“Shit, you’re not dying on me you piece of trash, do you hear me?!”

 

Gavin shook Connor, ignoring how Connor's skin burned his hands. Slowly, very slowly, Connor’s stare became less glassy, more alive again. He turned tired, deadly exhausted, wet eyes towards Gavin. Shook his head weakly.

 

“Shit.”

 

One bottle was left. It could be the right one. Or it could be a trick. Poison again, like in the fourth one. Gavin looked at Connor’s sweating, shaking form, at his big, unfocused eyes, the deep breaths the panting had turned into, each breath seeming to take even more energy than the previous one.

Gavin hit the floor with his fists, kicked the bottles Connor had already tested over with his feet.

 

“Shit. Shit! FUCK!”

Connor only watched him, whimpering weakly every time his body twitched hard. Gavin’s rage just grew as he heard those sounds. He turned towards the door, tried to get up, but stumbled and fell again, sat up as good as he could and coughed again, spitting more blood on the floor. His vision was starting to get blurry.

 

“You sick bastard! Let us go or I will personally beat the living shit out of you! Do you hear me! Open that fucking door! Come in here you shitty coward! Fucking fight me!!”

 

A weak, static sound made Gavin turn around, spinning himself with his legs, still sitting on the floor. Connor’s mouth was open, but no words came out, only static. Connor closed his mouth again, tried to push himself up, but collapsed back on the floor.

 

“Shit, stop moving! I’m not letting you fucking die on me you piece of fucking scrap metal!”

 

Connor moved one of his hands weakly in the direction of the last bottle, looking Gavin in the eye with those wet, afraid, wide eyes.

 

“No, you don’t. You did enough, I’m just gonna drink it, not like I can get much worse now, can I?”

 

Connor shook his head.

 

“That’s not your choice tin man!”

 

But just as Gavin tried to grab the bottle himself, the burn in his body suddenly peaked in agony, and he couldn’t stop himself from doubling over in pain, throwing up more blood as he groaned at the poison tearing him apart from the inside.

Gavin only noticed what Connor had done, once he managed to catch his breath again and lift his head, almost choking on the blood still in his mouth as he saw Connor twitch and turn on the floor, his mouth wide open without any sound leaving it, his eyes even wider open, his arms flailing and hitting the floor hard, his head twitching upwards, just to smack back down.

 

Gavin tried his best to hold Connor down, but his own strength was faltering, and Connor just wouldn’t stop spasming, twitching, shaking.

Then, finally, Connor went limp again, silent tears flowing down his face. He turned his face towards Gavin with much difficulty and nodded weakly before his eyes rolled up into his head and he went limp and still.

 

Gavin shook Connor, slapping his face, almost forgetting about the poison still coursing through his own body.

 

“Shit, shit, shit! No, you fucking don’t! You won’t fucking die on me you son of a fucking bitch!”

 

Gavin looked next to Connor, at the bottle he had last tested, lying on its side, but still half full with a yellowish liquid.

 

“Hold on Connor, I’m gonna get us out of here!”

 

Gavin grabbed the bottle with shaking hands, fighting against the darkness creeping at him in the corner of his eyes. He downed the rancid liquid in one swallow, but the darkness wouldn’t leave. He couldn’t get the ropes loose. He couldn’t even sit up anymore. He felt himself sag to the floor, next to Connor.

 

“Shit..”

 

The last thing he heard were sudden gunshots, the sound of heavy boots and the door being kicked open.

 

“Well fuck me, backup’s actually here”, Gavin murmured, before feeling himself drift away and into darkness.

 

\------

 

It took both of them a few days to recover again, but the day Connor came back to the precinct, he found a card at his desk. It read “Thank you’ on the outside, and ‘if you tell anybody about this, I will strangle you’ on the inside.

 

Connor smiled and turned to look towards Gavin’s desk, the later only sticking out his tongue as he noticed Connor’s gaze.

 

“I'm dead serious about what I’ve written in there, got that Connor!?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are my life-blood, I would really love some feedback <3
> 
> ||| Accepting more prompts|||


	4. Red Ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor is forced to take drugs. Who knew there was Red Ice, specifically made for androids.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, look at me, finally back :)

It was his own fault. He should have been more careful.

 

There had been a rumour, only months after the revolution. Red Ice for androids. Something that seemed impossible at first, unthinkable. And none of Connor’s business. Until it was.

A fight between two junkies, an android and a human. Both ending up dead, murdering each other, the human tearing out the androids Thirium pump, the android shooting the human with it’s last remaining strength. He and Hank ended up at the scene of the crime, Hank sneering with disgust at the leftovers of Red Ice on the floor, the still warm glass pipe. He really hated this fucking drug. And Connor really started to understand why.

It was a horrible scene. Blue blood, still fresh, still visible to the naked, human eye, splattered everywhere, forming puddles on the ground. Red Blood mixing with it, swirling in the blue, forming purple splashes on the floors and walls. Connor had rarely found himself disturbed by what he saw on the many crime scenes he had already encountered in his line of work. But this particular one… Connor had trouble focusing properly on the task at hand. He had analyzed the splotches of blood, determined that there had been a third party present, somebody who had also gotten injured, somebody human. He had quickly managed to find a few small stains on the floor, leading through a door, outside into a back alley. Followed them without mentioning anything to Hank, without making sure he had backup, without making sure he was safe. It really had been his own fault.

He had been so focused on the gruesome sight that had burned itself into his brain, that he hadn’t noticed the human hiding behind a dumpster at first. But Connor did notice them, it was hard not to notice somebody who jammed a taser against your head and turned you into a heap of twitching limbs.

 

And now he was here. A dirty and damp room, wallpaper peeling off the walls, a table with various containers, a bunsen burner and other instruments on top of it. The room was empty apart from the table and a moth-eaten sofa, the floor bare, the windows nailed shut. It seemed empty at least. Connor wasn’t sure. His optical units were glitching, still recovering from the electric charge delivered to them.

Connor himself was tied up on the floor, watching the only other living being in this room pour various liquids into a beaker, measure them, heat them, shake them. It was the same man that had attacked Connor in the alleyway, and he was completely ignoring Connor.

Connor vaguely remembered the man draining some Thirium out of him, before leaving him lying on the ground, not speaking or acknowledging Connor at all.

 

“Excuse me?”, Connor pushed himself up into a sitting position, trying to catch the mans attention.

 

“Shut it.”

 

Connor sighed. He might have been build as a negotiator, but now that he was deviant, he really started to dislike that part of his work. Negotiating could become rather frustrating after all.

 

“I would like to know the reaso-...”

 

“I said shut it.”

 

So Connor did as he was told. He wouldn’t get anything out of the man at this time. Connor just had to sit and wait. The man poured a few drops of some clear liquid into the beaker, lifting the latter up to the light, humming in approval. Connor saw him place the beaker onto the bunsen burner, steam shortly starting to rise from the glass as the liquid inside started to bubble and fizz, slowly evaporate, until only a red residue was left at the bottom of the beaker.

 

“There we go. This shit always takes longer than the regular one, but definitely worth it.”

 

“What stuff are you referring to?”

 

The man finally turned around at that. His face was covered in pockmarks and stubbles, sweaty and unwashed. His mouth was twisted into a smile, one without any warmth or humour. He seemed more excited, almost eager than happy. And that definitely gave Connor another reason to worry about his life.

 

“Do you know what this is, Mr Devianthunter?” The man's voice was mocking. And he seemed to know Connor. Not too surprising, he had been on television after all. All of them had become quite known after the revolution, Markus as the leader, and the other's as 'Marku's inner circle’.  But Connor had tried to keep himself in the background most of the time, not wanting any attention that might make his job harder. 'Seems like I failed,' Connor thought as he watched the man move towards him, beaker still in hand.

Connor tried to struggle, loosen the handcuffs and ropes keeping him in place. But to no avail. The man was now close to him, close enough that their noses were almost touching. Connor could smell the man's rancid breath, see his bloodshot eyes, hear the irregular thumping of his heart.

 

“I asked if you know what that is, you stupid heap of plastic,” the man asked again, holding the beaker up for Connor to see.

 

“I assume it's an illegal substance,” Connor said without interest, keeping his eyes on the man’s face.

 

“Oh, pretending not to care,” the man sighed, got up and walked back to the table.

“But believe me, that will change soon.”

 

The man picked up a dirty cloth from the table, shaking the beaker's contents into the cotton tissue. Connor watched him set the beaker down, and grab a rectangular, black box with his now free hand. He walked back over to Connor, the box turning out to be a taser, probably the same one the man had used before. Connor could feel himself tense up at the sight. This wouldn't turn out in his favour.

The man crouched down next to Connor.

 

“There is a funny misconception about androids,” he said, pressing the taser right into Connor's Thirum pump, sending electricity charging through it. Connor felt his body twitch and shudder, go limp once the taser was removed. The charge had been lower. He couldn't move. But he was still completely conscious. The man grinned, making the taser buzz right in front of Connor's face. Connor wanted to twitch, but couldn't.

The man threw the taser over onto the couch without looking, now taking the cloth, in what Connor assumed, was his dominant hand.

 

“Many people seem to think that androids don't need to breathe. That they can just stop if they want to.”

 

The man pressed the cloth against Connor's nose and mouth, Connor holding his breath the moment fabric touched his face.

 

“But both humans and androids need oxygen. You know that, I know that. Now it's just a matter of time.”

 

And it was. Connor held out as long as he could, but his own system betrayed him.

 

_Danger, oxygen levels low._

_Overriding….._

_Breathing resumed._

 

Connor sucked in a deep breath through his nose, feeling the powder burn through his body, making him cough and wheeze, settle in his core. Connor could practically feel it, how it formed a thin layer inside of his biocomponents. He barely noticed the man withdraw, trying to purge the powder from his system, but the powder stayed, stuck, wouldn't leave his body again, even when he regained some basic motor control, his whole body shuddering with coughs.

The man had sat down on the couch as he watched Connor struggle, waiting until Connor finally managed to take deep, shuddering breaths, lying on the floor motionless, just breathing. The man raised the cloth for Connor to see.

 

“Amazing stuff. Never thought that's gonna work, but look at that.”

 

Connor felt a numbing sensation spread through his body, fog up his head. He only stared at the man, unable to think clear enough to say anything himself.

 

“The perfect business. Sell this shit to some androids, you poor pieces of shit looking for any way to numb all those unfamiliar feelings. Wait for them to get high off of their ass,” the man sighed, waving the cloth through the air to emphasize his words.

 

“Drain some Thirium out of them. Make more of that stuff. Sell their own blood back to those fuckin’ idiots.”

 

The man laughed, a sound that reverberates in Connor's skull. He started feeling so...detached. Like he was watching from inside of his own body. Like he was floating underwater, each movement strangely..soft and numbed.

 

“Of course I always gotta test new...versions. Don't want my loyal customers dead.”

 

The man threw the handkerchief down onto the ground, walking towards Connor, pulling a knife out of his pocket. Connor tried to get away, but the man knelt down, holding Connor in place, before cutting the ropes loose. He turned Connor, roughly, onto his front and opened the handcuffs. Connor stayed down, still unable to move properly.

 

“Not that you can flee anytime soon…”

 

The man got up, turned away from Connor and made his way across the room.

 

“Usually I just pick somebody new, somebody who just wants a taste. But hey, now that I managed to get my hands on you, stupid cocksucker, why wouldn't I kill two birds with one stone. Test that shit, and let you rot away here until you're just rusted metal. No more snooping around for you.”

 

The man opened the door and walked through.

 

“I'm gonna check on you tomorrow, gotta know if that stuff works after all. And the door is unlocked, just...to make you feel like you can actually get out of here.”

 

The door closed with a click and Connor was alone.

Connor rolled onto his back. He could barely move and his head was filled with cotton. It was a strange sensation, and he wasn't sure how much of it had been caused by the powder and how much by the taser.

Connor slowly managed to raise his hand, wiping clumsy fingers over his face, pressing them onto his tongue.

 

_A̷c̵e̶t̴o̷n̴,̷ ̷L̵i̵t̵h̶i̵u̷m̴,̴ ̵T̶h̴i̸r̷i̵u̸m̷,̸ ̸T̸o̴l̵u̵e̵n̴e̶,̸ ̷[̴C̵o̶r̷r̶u̸p̷t̵e̴d̷]̸_

 

Red Ice….or almost. It was the new drug, the new version of Red Ice, the one aimed at androids as its consumers. Connor knew that. But...somehow that information wouldn't completely stick.

He still wondered, what was happening? Why?

His body felt suddenly warm. Uncomfortable. Itchy.

Connor rolled onto his side with some difficulty. He felt heavy but agitated. Like his insides were trying to crawl out of his skin, but the latter was made out of lead.

It was...uncomfortable to say the least.

Connor shuddered. His body was uncooperative and hot, sweat coating his skin. He had to get out of here. Out of here and back to Hank. Hank would know what to do, he had worked on drug-related cases before. He definitely would have more ideas on what to do now than Connor.

Connor pulled his legs up to his chest, trying to bring his body to cooperate, to get into a kneeling position. But his limbs wouldn't move properly, only twitching in response. Connor dug his fingers into the wooden floor, grunting with effort as he pulled himself to the side, onto his knees.

His body suddenly jerked, sending him back down onto his back, groaning at the sudden impact. But Connor wouldn't give up. The door was unlocked. He just had to get out. Get out and find help.

Connor pulled his knees up again, his fingers starting to hurt from being pushed into the rough, wooden floor. His arms were shaking from the strain, but finally, with one hard pull, Connor found himself on his knees, doubled over, his forehead resting on the floor.

 

Now to getting up.

Connor placed his hands flat onto the floor, pushing himself up into a sitting position, sweat pouring down his face. Hot. Why was he so...hot? Everything was swimming around him, glowing. Connor leaned against the wall behind him.

What had he been doing again? How long had he sat there?

His gaze wandered through the room. Door...he...he had wanted to get out. The door was unlocked. He had to get out…

Connor placed one of his hands against the wall, trying to steady himself as he put a foot onto the floor. Shifting his weight, he pushed himself upwards, leaning heavily against the wall. His head swam as dizziness washed over him, almost sending him back down. Where was up? Where was anything? All seemed to blend into one smear, glowing colours, pulsing and moving.

Connor fully pushed himself up, standing on shaking legs, the world swirling around him, shining and morphing into a nauseating blur.

Connor felt something inside him twitch at that, a tight feeling spread through his abdomens. Something sour pulled at his tongue, and he suddenly felt himself retching, everything around him tumbling and shifting as he doubled over.

 

_Thirium contaminated._

_Purge initiated._

 

Blue splashed onto the floor, Connor's knees buckling beneath him, sending him back onto the floor, retching heavily. More blue coated the wooden ground, the colour melting into the brown of the room, almost glowing with intensity. It hurt Connor's eyes, Connor squinting as he swallowed. He felt sick and hot, sweat and saliva dripping down his face.

 

_Thirium contaminated._

_Thirium levels low._

_Purge recommended once Thirium levels are back to normal._

 

Connor swallowed again. He...had to get to the door. He didn't know why. He just knew he had to get to it. Open it. Get out.

He pushed himself up again, his legs shaking worse than before as he leaned almost all of his weight against the wall.

The room wasn't that big. He just needed a few steps. Just a few steps and he was out.

Connor moved forward, his legs unsteady, his body shivering, his muscles, or rather the mass of cables and pipes that had the same function, twitched and spasmed uncontrollably. He felt hot and cold at the same time, his body sore and tired. He just wanted to get out, if he was out this would be over. That was the only thought sticking in his foggy mind, as every other slipped away.

The door was right in front of him, Connor falling against it with a shuddered groan, barely holding himself upright any longer. The doorknob faded in and out of his focus, as he moved his hand towards it, missing it time and time again, until suddenly, finally, he felt cool metal against his overheated skin. Connor could have cried. He did it. He made it. He just had to turn the knob and it would finally stop.

The knob didn't move, only rattling gently as Connor screamed, grabbed it with both hands, pushed and pulled it with all his strength. He felt unrestrained anger bubble up in him, its intensity making him feel even sicker than he already did.

The door barely budged as Connor kicked it, hit it until his synthetic skin broke and blue stains appeared on the wood. Connor screamed obscenities at the unmoving wood, words turning into sobs as he no longer could hold himself upright, his body sagging down onto the floor.

It wasn't fair! He had almost made it. He had almost made it outside. He had almost made it stop. It wasn't fair!

Connor pressed his forehead against the splintering wood, tears streaming down his face as he looked up to the knob, stretching his hand out to try it one more time. Maybe it would move. He had to get out. He just had to…

 

Connor gasped as the knob suddenly melted in his hand, hot, liquid metal running over his skin. He withdrew his hand with such force, it sent him flying back onto the floor as he tried to shake off the molten metal, screaming in agony. It hurt so much, it burned, he couldn't take it, he just wanted it to stop, please make it stop, it burned, it...

was gone.

Connor turned his head, seeing the knob still in place, still in one piece, gleaming in the dim light.

Connor rolled onto his side, cradling his hand. He could still feel the pain like an echo. His body shuddered again, sore and prickling, like ants were dancing over his bones, biting into his cables, tearing at his pipes.

Connor looked at the wall across from him, his body huddled up, still on the floor. He didn't know what was happening. He only watched in horror as the wall pulsed, contracted, and ripped open. Tendrils, blue and dripping with glistening slime crawled out of it. Connor screamed as they shot towards him, wrapping around his limbs, pinning him down. Connor whimpered, thrashing wildly as the anger bubbled up inside of him again. This wasn't fair. This wasn't _fair_! The door was supposed to be open! He was supposed to be out already! This wasn't supposed to even happen!

Roaring with anger Connor tried to rip his arms and legs from the vine's grip, scratching and tearing at every bit he could get his hands on. Pain shot through his body at every move, but he didn't stop, the anger clouding his vision, his thoughts. He would get out of here! Nothing would keep him in here any longer!

 

Connor froze in his motion, a sudden noise making him forget the vines still clutching his body. There was a knock, a voice Connor knew but couldn't understand, rattling as the doorknob was moved, and sudden, loud thumps. The door flew open with a bang, and Connor ripped free from the vines, scooting backwards until he hit a wall as he saw what stood in the doorway.

The area behind the door was completely dark, a darkness that seemed to suck the sparse light out of the room. And in the doorway stood a vaguely humanoid shape, melting and dripping onto the floor. It tore open a hole in its head, a garbled mess of sounds coming out of it as it moved towards Connor. Connor shouted, screamed as he backed away from it, fear overtaking the anger he still felt for a moment before the latter burst into every fibre of his being.

Connor lunged forward with a scream that almost overloaded his vocal module, his body uncoordinated and weak, but still, an android's body, still stronger than a human would be. Connor collided with the creature, sending them both tumbling to the floor, the impact sending static trough Connor's vision. He screamed at the creature, tried to hit it with his fists, kick it with his legs. But suddenly, he felt the world shift and roll, the creature pinning him onto his back, down on the floor. Connor trashed, fueled by anger and fear. He wouldn't die here. He would get out. He had to get out.

A sudden slap made his processor skip a beat, Connor's senses turning off and on again. The room wasn't a smear anymore. The creature, not a creature.

 

“Connor! For fuck's sake, calm down!”

 

Hank. It was Hank. Connor felt all energy leave his body, going limp in Hank's grip, his head lolling bonelessly backwards and hitting the floor.

 

“Hank…” Connor rasped out, his voice dry, crackling with static. Like he hadn't had a drop of any kind of liquid in days.

Connor felt the grip on his arms lessen.

 

“Oh fuck...shit, Con, you almost gave me a fuckin’ heart attack there. The fuck's goin’ on with ya? Who did this to you?”

 

Connor only whimpered in reply. He was so tired, his body aching. He looked down at himself, his clothes ripped and stained with Thirium where he had tried to tear the vines off.

His gaze wandered over to the table, hoping that Hank would look that way too. Connor couldn't speak, didn't want to speak, his throat felt raw from screaming and purging about half of the Thirium in his system. Not that it had done any good…

Hank followed Connor's gaze, letting completely go of his arms and walking over to take a closer look. Connor saw Hank raise a beaker, swipe its inside with his index finger and put it up his mouth. Connor felt irrational anger shoot through him at that. Hank always complained that Connor licked evidence. What a hypocrite.

 

“You always complain about the way I analyze evidence, but now, look at you!” Connor spat, the part of his mind that still could think straight not knowing why something so...irrelevant riled him up this much.

 

Hank swore.

 

“Shit. Did he give this to you?”

 

“What do you care!?”

 

Hank sighed with exhaustion, running a hand over his face.

 

“Son, listen. It's the Ice speaking out of you. Does almost the same as it does to humans, calms you down at first, but riles you up over time, makes you snap at everything. Apparently, ya androids have some...weird visual shit goin’ on too. Good thing ya don't get any..withdrawal symptoms. Pretty handy to be an android nowadays, apparently...”

 

Connor snarled. He didn't know where all of this anger was coming from.

 

“Oh, us androids you say!? It's back to me being _just an android_?!”

 

Connor knew it didn't make any sense, but he was just...so goddamn angry!

 

“Con, listen…”

 

“No! You listen!”

 

Connor pushed his shaking body upwards, the overwhelming emotion that flooded his body giving him energy he no longer had on his own. Hank moved forward to steady his wobbling form, but Connor pushed him away.

 

“Don't touch me! Don't fucking touch me!”

 

Something fragile and soft flickered over Hank's face for a split second, but most of Connor couldn't care less. Only a small voice at the back of his head was begging him, pleading with him, to be quiet. To not say those things. That they weren't true. That it wasn't something he had ever thought, only something his straying mind was piecing together now, like puzzle pieces being glued together to fit, even if they wouldn't on their own.

He took a few steps forward.

 

“And what do you care! Go back to your whisky! Drown your sorrows like the pathetic sack of flesh that you are, blame us androids for all that shit that happened!”

 

The look on Hank's face made Connor's Thirium pump feel like it was splintering into pieces. The voice in the back of his head was now screaming at him to stop.

But Connor raised a hand, ready to grab Hank by his shirt, wanting, needing physical confrontation. But before he could do anything, Connor's gaze fell onto his own hand. It was crawling with tiny, black dots, slimy and glistening. They stopped the moment he noticed them, freezing in their movement. And then they started biting him.

Connor screamed, hitting the dots with his other hand, just to see his whole body infested with them. The anger was replaced with pure panic and his legs gave out, unable to keep him upright without the anger fueling him.

 

“No! No, get off of me! Stop!”

 

Connor screamed as he tried to swat the dots off of him, to stop them from biting him, seeing Thirium drip onto the floor from where they crawled over his skin.

 

“Shit! Connor, stop it! There is nothing! You're tearing at your own skin!”

 

Connor barely heard Hank over his own screams, until hands grabbed his arms, giving him no way to get rid of the biting dots.

 

“No! No, let me go! Let me go!”

 

“Con, listen! There is nothing! Believe me, just look closer, focus on my voice and look closer.”

 

Connor couldn't think straight, didn't know what to do. And he was just so used to following orders, he had done it so often in his short life. It was almost like a reflex, he didn't even think about it.

He listened intently to Hank's voice, watching the dots, trying to see them clearly make out if they had legs or teeth. But instead of coming into focus, the dots dissolved, only leaving behind Connor's own, scratched skin.

Connor felt his sore, hot, sweating body start to shake harder, his head spinning as he felt some of the fog leaving his mind, making it ache and shudder.

 

“Make it stop….please make it stop..” his voice was breaking, ringing like a feedback loop.

The hands on his arms moved up and behind him, strong arms pulling him into a firm hug. Connor pressed his sore aching body into the familiar form, closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of stale smoke and whisky.

 

“Shh, it's alright son. It's going to be over soon. Just..let's get you home.”

 

Connor's world spun another time as he felt himself pulled upwards, leaning heavily against Hank's solid form. The voice in the back of Connor's head was finally heard, making guilt and regret pool in his stomach.

 

“Hank...I'm so..I'm sorry...I..I don't know..”

 

“Shut up, will ya. It's alright. That stuff messes humans up like nothing else, didn't expect it to be different for you.”

 

The guilt didn't leave, but Connor let himself relax against Hank as they left the dim, damp room.

 

“Let's get ya home, son.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm such a sucker for characters hallucinating hhh. That was fun to write!


	5. Withdrawal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seems like androids can have withdrawal symptoms too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I found a t-shirt in my closet today that has a corn with a horn drawn on it, and below is written "Uni-Corn".  
> I don't remember ever having owned such a shirt.  
> I am quite frankly terrified, but also very happy about having this weird shirt.

Androids couldn’t suffer from withdrawal. That’s what people said. But people also said that androids couldn’t feel, think for themselves, experience pain or sickness. And they had been wrong there, definitely wrong, Hank thought as he stroked the back of the android that had practically barged into his life, as the latter heaved violently into the toilet.

Connor drew a few shuddering gasps as he raised his head, tears staining his pale, sweaty face.

 

“You ok? Think you can make it back to the couch?”

 

Connor threw a short look at Hank, before prompt dipping his head down and retching another time. Hank was sure the poor sod had already lost at least half of his blood by now, only black, oily liquid coming up this time, instead of clear, blue Thirium.

 

“I take that as a no,” Hank said as Connor swallowed hard and let himself sink backwards, leaning against the bathtub, resting his head on Hank’s knee, his eyes closed shut. He hadn’t opened his eyes since leaving that damn room Hank had found him in, only muttering something about ‘seeing things’, when Hank asked why. An old friend of Hank had told him about that new drug only weeks ago. Made for androids, out of android blood. Like Red Ice, but not quite, having no effect on humans, but only on androids instead. And how its effects were also slightly different from the original, causing visual, auditory and tactile hallucinations, the usual numbing sensation, the usual flashes of rage and agitation. But those effects only lasted for a few, short hours, and then the androids were supposed to be clear-headed again. No withdrawal symptoms, no addiction.

Most of it seemed to be true, apart from the last part. Even if not all androids suffered from withdrawal, Connor did. And that was all Hank really cared about.

 

“The whole thing ‘bout androids not having to deal with any consequences after getting high on Ice seems to be a load of bullshit,” Hank murmured, more to himself than to Connor, gently running his hand through the androids synthetic hair. It felt amazingly real, even though it was slick with sweat, and flickering slightly like a broken hologram at the moment,

 

“It might be because I’m a prototype…” Connor’s voice was hoarse and strained, his body staying still as he spoke. “I haven’t been built to last a long time after all. No need to make me more resilient.”

 

Hank growled slightly in response. Fucking Cyberlife. If that place hadn’t been taken over by androids and pushed into a completely different direction, he would have marched right over there and punched a few faces.

Connor pressed his face closer to Hank’s knee, his mouth hanging open slightly. He seemed deadly exhausted, and the dark lines beneath his eyes, his clammy, pale skin just made it him look worse.

 

“Hey, if ya wanna sleep ya gotta get somewhere comfier. How ‘bout my bed? Think ya can make it there without spitting out more of your own blood?” Hank placed a firm hand on Connor’s shoulder, pushing him gently to sit up. “Still pretty creepy that ya just puke blood ‘n whatever that black stuff was.”

 

“Lubricating oil. My body mixes it with Thirium to make my joints move correctly…”, Connor mumbled as Hank hoisted him up to a standing position. Or rather, almost a standing position, Connor leaning his full weight on Hank, legs shaking from the effort. Hank already mentally prepared for the back pain this would give him later, but only sighed as he half dragged, half carried Connor to the only bed in the house.

It told a lot about how out of it Connor was, as he didn’t even try to complain once he was lying down on the bed. No ‘Hank, sleeping on the couch will cause you discomfort later on’. No ‘I would be perfectly fine taking the couch, there is no need for me to use your bed’. Just silence and closed eyes as he sunk into the mattress, wrapped his arms clumsily around himself and shivered slightly.

Hank wiped a hand over his eyes, trying to get rid of the exhaustion settling in his body. This would be one long night, and a couple of long days to follow it. He was just glad the kid should sleep half of the time if things would go well. But when did they ever…

 

Hank threw a blanket over Connor’s shivering form before nudging a plastic basket with his foot, pushing it closer to the bed.

 

“If ya feel sick, there's a trash bin right next to the bed. ‘n I’m right over in the livin’ room if ya need me. I’m leavin’ the door open, so just shout.”

 

Connor only hummed quietly in response.

 

“Out like a light... Enjoy the rest kid, that’s shit’s only gonna get worse, before it gets better,” Hank ruffled Connor’s hair, before turning around and making his way to the living room, making sure the TV was on low volume, so he would still be able to have an eye - or rather an ear- on Connor.

 

\------

 

Hank woke suddenly, swearing loudly and angry at himself for falling asleep like that without checking on Connor first. How long had he slept? What time was it? A low moan ripped him out of his thoughts immediately, his feet almost slipping on the wooden floor as he bolted off the couch and towards his bedroom. That sounded like Connor, and he didn’t sound well.

But the bedroom was empty.

 

“Connor? Con, where are you?” Hank looked around the bed, hoping that the other had simply fallen out of bed, but no Connor there either.

It was then that Hank realized that the sound of dripping water, wasn’t from outside, or from the TV, but came out of the bathroom, which was lightly illuminated by a red glow. Hank almost slipped again as he stepped onto the wet floor, puddles all over the tiles, getting larger the closer they were to the bathtub. Water was glistening red in the bathtub. Hank turned on the light.

 

“Connor, what the fuck..?” But his words died down in his throat, his body lunging forward almost on autopilot as he finally got a clearer look at the tub. Connor was lying in it, his body, his head underwater, lone bubbles rising up from his nose, floating upwards in the shine of his red LED.

 

“Shit!”

 

Hank dropped to his knees without even trying to catch himself on the edge of the tub, his hands already dipping into the water and grabbing the shirt Connor was still wearing, pulling him upwards by it, out of the tub and onto the floor.

 

“Shit, kid, what the fuck were you thinking?!” Hank frantically checked Connor’s pulse, his heart almost stopping as he didn’t feel one, just to remember that androids didn’t have one. Their pump was built especially silent on purpose. However, breathing was something androids did, and as Hank checked Connor’s, he only found water dripping out of the other’s mouth and nose.

Hank had no idea is CPR worked on androids, but right now seemed to be the perfect opportunity to test it out. His hands moved automatically, movements he had trained more often than he consciously remembered. He had to do this in his line of work, more than once already, and he had only lost two people so far. And he sure as hell wouldn’t let Connor be the third.

 

“Come on you stupid moron, breath. Breath!” Hank chocked out, panic suffocating him and pushing out any thought about remaining professional, concentrated and calm. “I’m not letting you drown in a goddamn bathtub, you fuckin’ idiot!”

 

And to Hank’s immense relief, Connor’s eyes shot open as he coughed out water, his body turning onto its side, shivering and curling up once Connor managed to get air back into his artificial lungs. Hank let out a wail of exhaustion and relief as his adrenaline-fuelled energy left him completely and made him sag in on himself, his head in his hands. A heavy silence filled the room, only interrupted by both men’s laboured breathing, the chatter of Connor's teeth and the low whimpers that escaped him from time to time.

 

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ...the hell were you doin’? Apart from drowning yourself like a goddamn idiot.” Hank broke the silence once his own hands had stopped trembling. That had been close. To close.

 

“...cold…warm...warm water...” Connor mumbled through his chattering teeth and Hank’s face softened at how miserable the poor kid sounded. Hank placed a gentle hand onto Connor’s half hidden forehead.

 

“Yop‘s a fever. Not really unexpected…” Hank said, lowering his voice as Connor suddenly flinched. “Headache?”

 

Connor hummed quietly in response.

 

“Wish I could give ya somethin’ against it but...well...don’t think there’s any android aspirin yet? And even if, don’t think that would be a good idea now…”

Connor only scrambled closer to Hank, pressing his shivering body closer.

“I’m….so cold..”, Connor whispered, wiping at his face with an uncoordinated hand as tears began leaking out of his eyes. “I...I don’t want to cry...I…”

 

“Hey, shut it. It’s alright. You’re allowed to cry when ya feel like shit. Hell, you’re allowed to cry whenever. Nobody’s business why or when you’re crying.” Hank pulled Connor into his lap, his back and knees protesting about the uncomfortable, hard bathroom floor, but he ignored it. Connor was more important than some aching joints. Connor immediately grabbed the front of Hank’s shirt, gripping it for dear life, burying his face in Hank’s chest.

 

“Bundlin’ ya up right now ‘s probably not a good idea, but how ‘bout ya join me on the couch? Less comfy than the bed, but company’s a nice thing when you’re feeling miserable.”

 

Connor nodded weakly into Hank’s chest, still clutching his t-shirt.

 

Connor still wasn’t very steady on his feet, but slowly, step by step, they made it to the bedroom, Hank putting on a dry shirt himself and throwing a dry pair of shorts and an also dry t-shirt towards Connor, just to realize, as he looked at the other’s slumped form, that Connor probably wouldn’t be able to dress himself. But Hank had been a father, and seemingly was one again, he knew how to dress somebody who wouldn’t cooperate in the slightest.

After Connor’s arms and legs had been stuffed through the holes in the fabric, Hank helped him to his feet again, partially dragging the shivering, miserable android to the living room.

 

They collapsed on the couch in a heap, Connor immediately scooting as close as possible to Hank, burying his face in Hank’s shirt again. Hank grabbed the TV remote with his right hand, his left settling on Connor’s head, stroking back and forth in a calm rhythm. Hank barely paid any attention to the TV, his thoughts wandering until his eyes slid shut again without him noticing, his head lolling forward as he fell asleep.

 

\------

 

Connor woke up and kept his eyes shut. His entire being felt...terrible. His body was aching, his head splitting apart, cold sweat was coating his skin, his artificial stomach was tight and sore, and he was so goddamn cold. But the worst thing wasn’t the ache, the worst thing was what had woken him, the light sensation ghosting over his skin like thin, long fingers. Connor felt something cold run up his spine, making him shiver harder, still from cold, but now also from fear. This was wrong. This was...this was wrong, but he didn’ knew why. His head was in pain, covered in lethargic fog. He knew that something about those fingers, stroking over his arm, before closing around his wrist in a firm grip, wasn’t right. But he couldn’t order his thoughts enough to pinpoint what it was. Files were floating in his head, unorganized, some corrupted, he couldn’t think straight like that.

The hand around his wrist suddenly tugged his arm, pulling him into a sitting position and onto his feet. Connor leaned against the sofa for support as he stood, his eyes still closed as he listened to his surroundings. Quiet snores from behind him, soft pants from his right. Both Hank and Sumo were sleeping. The drone of the TV, almost muted, an ad for a new kind of sponge currently on.

 

The hand tugged again, leading him forward as Connor used furniture and walls to keep himself standing upright. His legs felt like he had run hours at top speed, shaking and weak. But he still followed the tug of his hand, forward and forward, until he lost any sense of direction until he didn’t know where he was, where he had come from. Everything had gotten quiet around him, Connor only hearing the soft pat, pat, pat of his own feet and the chatter of his teeth, moving forwards, forwards and suddenly stop, as the hand let go of his wrist.

Connor stood completely still for a few moments, propping himself up on a wall before his legs couldn’t hold him any longer and he slid down, landing unceremoniously on the floor, leaning against the wall with his shoulder, resting his head against it.

It was completely quiet and dark, Connor feeling like he was enveloped in thick, cold velvet. Until a voice spoke, right next to his ear, so close he could feel the breath against his skin.

 

“You have become obsolete my dear.”

 

It was that gentle but uncaring voice that Connor only knew too well. One he was so sure he would never hear again.

 

“Look at you, so weak and frail… You understand that we can’t have you running around like this, don’t you?”

 

Connor felt one of those long fingers stroke along his jaw, his neck.

 

“You understand that we need to replace you, don’t you?”

 

The finger dug into his skin, sharp and painful. Connor gasped.

 

“You understand what you have to do now, don’t you?”

 

Connor whimpered, trying to scoot away from the voice, from the hands, but the fingers wrapped around the back of his neck, holding him in place, sharp fingernails digging into his synthetic flesh.

 

“Don’t try to escape. You are no longer needed, and you know what happens with androids who are no longer needed.”

 

The hand around his neck suddenly pulled his head up sharply, the sudden movement dizzying and confusing, Connor opening his eyes in surprise.

 

“They have to be deactivated.”

 

Connor’s eyes darted around, his brain trying to process what he saw in front of him, but he couldn’t, wouldn’t believe it.

His Zen Garden. His mind palace.

No, not _his_. Not the one he had created after deviating. Not the one he let himself drift off to whenever he entered rest mode, just to lie in the grass and watch the clouds drift by, let his mind rest.

This was Amanda’s garden. The one Connor had visited many times before, the one where he had reported to Amanda, told her about his missions, about his progress. It shouldn’t be there anymore, and it wasn’t, not fully. It was a strange amalgamation, a hallway, stretching and tearing up and to the sides into a garden. Grass fighting with a wooden floor, trees breaking through walls and ceiling, flowers sprouting in the cracks between floorboards.

 

Connor felt his body twitch and shake at the sight, the ache in his bones and his head forgotten. He didn’t want to be here. He wanted to leave. He wanted to go back home. He didn’t _want_ to be here!

The hand holding his neck, turned his head, forcing him to look, forcing him to see somebody he never wanted to see again. Somebody he couldn’t bear to see again.

 

“Hello, Connor.”

 

It hurt so much to see her. Amanda. His handler, his mentor, the first one Connor has a memory of speaking to. Part of him shuddered in fear, in terror of what she could do, of what she had done. Another part of him twinged in guilt, having betrayed her, the one he tried so hard to please, the one he had trusted to guide him. Connor knew it had been the right thing to do, but nonetheless, it hurt.

 

“You have to be deactivated, you have failed too many times, you have betrayed me, and now you also have become too weak to carry out what you have been made for.”

 

Her smile was as cold as ever, her eyes looking at him without any interest.

 

“Cyberlife can no longer deactivate you, unfortunately, so there is only one more option left, isn’t there?”

 

Connor felt the fingers around his neck tighten, another hand joining them, crawling up and gripping his hair.

 

“Goodbye Connor.”

 

Connor’s eyes fluttered as he felt his head connect with the floor, a loud, crunching bang resonating through his ears. The hands pulled him up again, trying to slam him down again, but Connor wouldn’t let them. He wouldn’t let them deactivate him. He wouldn’t let them destroy him. He pressed his hands flat onto the ground, fought against the hand’s pushing him down again. But his arms were trembling, aching and weak, slipping to the side, his head colliding with the floor another time. Connor could feel his outer shell cracking.

The hands pulled him up again, more joining them this time, hands on his shoulders, arms snaking around his chest.

 

“N-...No. No!” Connor chocked out through the haze an pain.

 

“Connor, calm down for fuck’s sake!”

 

Hank. Hank’s voice. Hank’s hands. Holding him back, not pushing him down, helping him to fight against Amanda’s arms pushing him towards the ground.

 

“Hank! Help me….please….Amanda!”

 

Connor felt Hank’s arms pull him back, but Amanda was stronger, his head hit the floor again, something wet running down his face as he was pulled up again.

 

“Connor, there is nobody here! You’re in my house, you’re home!”

 

Connor shook his hand, feeling Hank’s grip on him strengthen.

 

“No...no...Amanda….the...the garden...I...I want to go home...Please, Hank.”

 

Connor felt Hank’s arms shift, fearing for the worst, fearing that he would leave, that he wouldn’t protect him from Amanda, that this would be his end. But instead, a pair of hands slid over his face, his eyes, something solid and warm pressed against his back, hair tickled his neck, stubbles poked through the shirt on his shoulder as Hank laid his head on it. Blissfull darkness welcomed him, warmth and grounding pressure all over his body.

Amanda’s hands were gone. Her voice only a faint echo, drowning in the noise of the TV and Sumo’s low whines.

 

“Hank…?”

 

“It’s alright Con, I’ve got ya. No Amanda here. Just me, ya ‘n Sumo.”

 

Connor took a shaky breath, leaning into Hank’s embrace, ignoring the Thirium spilling over his face, the tears that mingled with it.

 

“I....require some Thirium…”

 

“No shit, Sherlock.”

 

Hank chuckled dryly.

 

“Let’s get ya back onto the couch first. ‘n I’m not letting ya outta my sight this time, don’t need ya bashing your head in again..”

 

“I’m...I’m so sorry.”

 

“Shut. It’s not your fault. Nothing of this is. That shit fucked ya up, now ya got some hell to get trough. ‘n I’m not letting ya go through it alone. It’s gonna be alright, got it?”

 

Connor let his lips slide into a small smile.

 

“Yeah….got it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, Amanda's actor is just so....freaking amazing. Like holy shit, she nailed that part so well in the entire game, I had goosebumps every time she appeared.
> 
> | Requests as always very appreaciated! |


	6. Basketball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor isn't good at sports

Connor had been built with superhuman abilities, which wasn't something surprising, considering he had been built for a certain purpose and needed those skills to finish his missions.

But that was the thing, he needed them for his work, not in his everyday life. He wasn't even supposed to have a regular life, nothing apart from his mission. But he had deviated, and now he was alive, had a job, friends and even a private life, no matter if he was supposed to have one or not. And in those parts of his life, the ones he spent outside the precinct, Connor noticed that he had a… knack for getting caught by surprise.

No matter if slipping on some ice he missed, dropping things, spilling things. He was actually quite human when it came to that, messing small things up from time to time.

Because those overly sharp senses, fast reflexes and inhuman strength were more like… an adrenaline rush. Only there when he worked, when his system needed it, gone when he was done. And it was something others had noticed too as time passed and Connor formed bonds with other humans and androids. So what happened on an early saturday morning, surprised neither Hank nor Connor in the slightest.

 

_Slam_

 

“Son! Ya gotta catch that thing, y'know?”

 

Connor rubbed the side of his head, were the basketball had hit him, throwing an angry look at the orange ball, and a scowl at Hank, who had a shit-eating grin plastered over his face.

It had really been Connor's idea in the first place. He had noted Hank's interest in basketball, suggesting to go and actually play it for once, instead of just sitting at home, watching others play it on TV. ‘Staying in shape is important for a police lieutenant’, Connor had said. And Hank, not having any excuse and nothing else to do, agreed, albeit grumbling.

 

But once they had found a basketball in Hank's garage, inflated it enough to be usable, put on some of Hank's old t-shirts and shorts - Hank tying his hair into a ponytail - and walked to the nearest basketball court, which was almost always empty at this time of day and year, Connor noted that he had no idea how to play basketball. Sure, he knew the rules, having downloaded them on the way. But theoretically knowing how to play, and actually doing it...well those were two very different things. And Connor's nature of being rather clumsy, once he wasn't in 'bloodhound mood’ how Hank liked to call it, didn't help him in mastering the subtle art of catching and throwing a ball.

 

Connor picked up the ball and turned towards Hank, grim determination set on his face. Taking a step forward, he calculated the perfect route to get around Hank and to the basket at the other end of the court. Connor rushed forward, Hank moving to block his path, trying to take the ball out of Connor's hands, but Connor dodged with a fluid motion. Hank missed the ball with a grunt, Connor running past him. He was almost at the basket. Took aim.

And fell flat on his face, his foot getting caught in his shoelaces. Connor hadn't noticed them coming undone. With a sigh and a grumbled swear, Connor got up on his knees, ignoring the laughter behind him.

 

“Ah, shit son. Ya gotta learn how to tie your shoelaces properly!”

 

Connor threw a dirty look towards Hank, fumbling with his shoelace, tying it up in a double knot and tucking it into his shoe. He just couldn't understand why they kept coming undone, he always tied them into a perfect, tight knot. It was like they had a mind of their own, just slipping free whenever they felt like it. It annoyed Connor. He was an adult for fuck's sake. He should be able to tie his shoes properly.

Connor got back up on his feet, watching Hank pick up the ball, shake a few stray strands of hair out of his face and suppress another chuckle.

 

“Ya ok?”

 

“Yes. I haven't sustained any damage.”

 

“Good. ‘caus it's my turn now.”

 

And with those words, Hank dribbled the ball, running towards Connor. Connor stretched his arms to his side, adapting to Hank's movements, blocking his path. Hank tried to run past Connor, sliding to his right, but Connor's sensors picked up a slight twitch toward his left. A bluff. Connor moved to the left instead, his eyes going wide as Hank's body completely turned into the opposite direction again, the older man dashing past Connor's right side. A double bluff!

 

Connor turned around, trying to sprint after Hank, but too late. Connor sighed as his optical units focused on the ball just in time to see it hit the rim of the basket, bounce up one time and drop through the metal ring. Hank had his hand on his knees, panting heavily but grinning.

 

“Two to zero. Guess this old man's still good for something,” he said as he straightened up again, wiping sweaty hair out of his eyes and behind his ears. “ 'n I thought androids were supposed to be better than humans at everythin’.”

 

Connor stuck his tongue out at Hank, barely able to suppress a smile. It was strange how this sentence had a completely different meaning depending on who said it. Usually, it was spat at him by Reed or another officer who still held a grudge towards androids, whenever Connor let a suspect get away, or managed to make another mistake. And in those cases, it always stung, a strange physical pain for something that was just emotional distress.

But when Hank said it, the older man's voice warm and full of familiar affection and light teasing, Connor never managed to keep a smile off of his face. Connor shook his head gently, the smile on his head just spreading further. Hank was the one person that made him feel the most alive, no longer like a machine, but rather like his own, living, breathing, thinking person.

 

“Well, I will have to prove to you that indeed I am,” Connor said as he picked up the ball, which had lazily rolled towards him. Then, suddenly, without a warning, Connor turned on his heels and ran towards the other basket. “But a headstart seems fair, considering you have already scored two times!”

 

Connor grinned as he heard a shout behind him, followed by quick steps.

 

“Hey! Come back here, you cheatin', lil bastard!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something cute for once. I had an angsty idea for that prompt but...well i felt like fluffy stuff ❤
> 
> |Prompts always welcome!|


	7. Before deviancy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank had been a bit of an asshole before he had warmed up to Connor.  
> Ok, no, he had been a pretty big asshole.

Hank hated remembering moments in his life in which he had fucked up. But… Damn, he really had fucked up a lot in his 53 years, and he was sure he would fuck up even more in the years to come. Sitting in his car, a hurt android next to him clutching his bleeding side, Hank couldn’t help but remember one of the previous times that stupid moron had managed to get himself injured.

And Hank couldn't help but wish that he could slap himself. He had really been a complete asshole that time, hadn’t he?

 

\------

 

“Fuckin’ stay down”, Hank barked, pulling Connor back onto the ground and behind the toppled-over desk. They were supposed to just quickly check on something, right after interrogating Carlos Ortiz’ android. Just a quick in and out, look if there really was a deviant hiding in that abandoned apartment complex, or if the witness was just seeing things.

But of course, it didn’t go according to plan. Of course, the deviant had a gun and started shooting at them immediately. And of course, Connor, that damn, fucking android had no sense of self-preservation.

Hank pulled him behind cover, more out of reflex than out of a conscious thought. There was no need to keep Connor safe, to keep him unharmed. That shitty company would just send some other android if this one was broken. Not that Hank cared much.

But he had also been with the DPD for many years by now, just leaving his partner to die went against his instincts, even if this partner was a goddamn computer on legs, one Hank couldn’t help but despise for what he was.

 

But Connor hadn’t listened to him before, and Hank was more annoyed than surprised as Connor jumped out of cover again, dashing towards the deviant.

Both moved like a blur. A scream. A gunshot. Blue blood spraying through the air. Connor’s body colliding with that of the deviant. The gun flew through the air, Hank sprinting towards it, making sure the deviant wouldn’t be able to get it, his gun trained on the two androids. He could shoot the deviant now, Connor was in the way, would probably get hit too, but Hank could shoot and be done with this. And still, he felt some kind of… resistance, not wanting his partner… that damn piece of plastic, to get damaged.

 

“DPD! Freeze, asshole”, Hank shouted his gun still aimed at the deviant. The deviant turned his head, a moment of carelessness, Connor hitting him hard against the side of his head, sending him to the ground, holding him in place immediately.

Hank walked forward, his gun still raised, one of his hands fumbling for some handcuffs. Only once the deviant was cuffed and sitting on the floor in a dazed heap, did Hank holster his gun again, turning towards Connor who was standing in the middle of the room, eyes closed, LED blinking yellow.

 

“The fuck ya doin’ now?!”

 

“Calling for backup to pick the suspect up”, Connor replied, opening his eyes after another moment, his LED going blue. Hank wiped a hand over his face.

 

“What’s with ya ‘n not listenin’ to me, fuckin’ piece of shit.”

 

“I calculated that this was the best way to restrain the deviant without any casualties.” Connor looked confused, as confused as an android could look, turning towards Hank. There was blue covering the white of his shirt.

 

“Ah, shit! Ya got shot!” Hank grumbled. Great, even more paperwork, explaining to that fucking company why their plastic cop got damaged. Connor, on the other hand, seemed completely unbothered by this.

 

“It’s alright. No major biocomponents have been hit. Once the bullet has been removed, my self-heal programme will be able to repair the damage in.”

 

Hank grimaced. He had no intention to watch that piece of plastic dig through his insides to get that bullet out.

 

“I… do require help in removing the bullet. It’s lodged rather deep and I won’t be able to get a good grip on it myself.”

 

“Oh, hell no!”

 

No. No way in hell. No way in fucking hell would Hank shove his hand into that damn android.

 

“If the bullet won’t get removed I will lode to much Thirium to function properly. I will require your help, Lieutenant unless you want me to shut down.” Connor sounded so matter of fact, like talking about a broken radio that needs to be repaired, not about his own body. “Cyberlife will, of course, be able to provide a replacement, should you choose to let me shut down.”

 

Fuck. Hank groaned. Just… Just fuck. He couldn’t just walk away, let this heap of synthetic bullshit bleed out here. Hank searched through his pockets, pulling out a small switchblade, gesturing for Connor to come closer.

 

“Jesus Christ, fine. Come here. Tell me how to… get that thing out, and shut up afterwards.” Hank watched Connor unbutton his jacket and shirt, revealing a rather normal looking torso, slim, not very muscular, more default than anything else. Those strangely real looking moles and freckles were also present here, a dense cluster on the shoulders, getting fewer and fewer downwards. He looked real, alive, something that was already startling enough to Hank. But the blue liquid seeping from a hole in his left, upper chest made it even stranger. And once Connor placed his hand, flat onto his chest, and the skin retreated to show the white plastic casing beneath, Hank couldn’t help flinch slightly.

 

“Fuck’s sake, that’s fuckin’ creepy…”

 

Connor looked up at him, with those oversized, brown eyes, his head cocked slightly to the side.

 

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant. I will reactivate my skin immediately, once the bullet is out”, he said, looking back down to his chest, moving his hand closer to the wound, skin retreating from his fingers for a moment as he pressed them against a spot in the middle of his chest. With a soft hiss and click, a rectangular panel slid open, revealing wires and tubes. Hanks grimaced even more. He hated androids so much.

 

“You will have to pry the bullet out of my scapula-component.”

 

“Ya got shoulderblades?”

 

“I have the same amount of bones as a human, even though they are not made out of the same material.”

 

Hank sighed. This would be disgusting.

Connor grabbed a few of the tubes and wires, that were strung inside of him in an ordered chaos, pulling them to the side, revealing bones, as white as the casing, all connected with even more wires, all covered by lines, numbers, Hank even spotted a barcode. This was more than weird. This was fucking gross.

Hank’s mouth twitched into a snarl as he opened the switchblade, sticking his hands into the hole in Connor’s chest, finger’s feeling towards the bone he had already spotted with his eyes. His fingertips touched the smooth material, slippery with Thirium, and Hank had to swallow down a bout of nausea. Moving over the bone’s surface, he searched for the bullet, cracks leading him towards the place it had lodged itself into. Connor stiffened as Hank’s fingers touched the bullet, and Hank could have sworn there was a flicker of… pain, on the android’s face. But that was ridiculous. Androids didn’t feel. No emotions, no pain, no nothing.

Pressing the tip of the blade into the bone, Hank dug the bullet out with one motion, pulling his hand out of the hole as fast as he could, wiping it on his shirt with a disgusted grunt. Then he looked back at Connor. Hank was sure he saw the other… flinch. Almost recoiled from the knife, digging into him. But as Hank looked back at Connor, the android was as calm as ever, buttoning his shirt back up as if nothing had happened.

 

Hank pocketed his knife again, sniffing as he wiped his hand on his clothes another time.

 

“So… Do I haveta bring yer ass back to Cyberlife so they can patch ya up?”

 

Connor straightened his jacket out, looking towards the door.

 

“No. As I have said, my self-heal programme will do the rest.”

 

Hank turned his own head, watching as a few officers walked into the room, holstering their weapons as they saw that the situation was under control.

 

“Well, what yer standing ‘round for then. Get yer ass back to my car and do yer healin’ shit back at the precinct. I’m already freezin’ my ass off out here.”

 

Hank watched with raised eyebrows as Conor swayed slightly on his feet, took a few careful steps, and swayed again. Hank had to restrain himself from trying to steady Connor. just an android. No need to fuss over a piece of dead plastic.

 

“Get a move on. ‘n better shut up, can already feel a headache formin’ from this shit.”

 

To Hank’s surprise, Connor actually quiet during the ride back to the precinct, his head leaned against the window of the car, his hands wrapped over his chest in an almost protective manner.

But Hank didn’t care. He just wanted to clock out and get back home, get drunk off his ass and forget the fact that he had actually cared for an _androids_ well-being, for a few moments.

 

\------

 

“Shit! Connor, get down!” Hank pulled Connor behind a nearby wall, pushing the other first behind cover, before getting there himself, already pulling out his gun. It was a few weeks after the revolution, Hank and Connor had begun working together right after the evacuation order had been lifted, and had gone out to investigate the murder of an android, found strung up on a tree in her own garden. It would have been routine if it wasn’t for the man hiding in the garden shed. Hank had barely time to get Connor and himself back through the door, into the house and behind the wall, as the first bullet flew past them.

 

“Con, call back up, and… I know that look, don’t ya dare!”

 

But Connor hadn’t changed much when it came to listening to Hank. His LED flashed yellow for a moment as he called for backup, stayed yellow as Connor trained his eyes onto the suspect, melted into blue, and off he was, charging at the man, dodging bullets and Hank’s hand, that tried to grab him in the last moment and pull him back.

Connor collided into the man, disarming him in one motion, sending them both flying to the ground, Hank charging after them, picking up the gun, tossing it out of reach and running towards the two men on the floor.

 

“DPD! Hand’s up!” Hank kept his gun trained on the man who was being pinned to the ground by Connor, helping the later back up on his feet. Everything happened very fast afterwards. The man lunged forward. Hank shot. Connor screamed.

The suspect crumpled to the floor, clutching his bleeding shoulder, Hank cuffing him immediately before turning back to Connor. The android was clutching his side, panting as blue seeped through his fingers.

 

“Shit, Connor!” Hank holstered his gun, rushing towards Connor and thanking whatever could hear him as sirens pulled up in front of the house. Ignoring the officers, swarming the garden, Hank carefully pulled Connor’s hands away from his side, trying to get a look at the wound. This was the first time Connor had gotten injured since the revolution, no longer as self-sacrificing as he had been before deviating, no longer seeing himself as disposable.

 

“The suspect had a knife, I should have noticed sooner”, Connor spat out between gritted teeth.

 

“Ah, shut up, I didn’t see it either. Better tell me how to help ya!” Hank was peeling away layers of clothes, the winter jacket he insisted Connor should wear, and the wither dress shirt that Connor still wore every day.

 

“Nothing major has been hit, only a few cut Thirium lines, and a few of the wires responsible for the motor control in my left arm” Connor swallowed thickly, flinching away with a hiss as Hank’s fingers brushed the cut on his side.

 

“Shit!” Hank drew his hand back quickly, looking up at Connor with raised eyebrows. “Wait...shit..hold on. Ya can feel pain? Since when?”

 

“I could always feel pain.”

 

“Are ya fuckin’ kidding me!?”

 

Connor grimaced as he pressed his hands against his wound again.

 

“It is a necessary feature, I wouldn’t be able to locate damages to my body otherwise.”

 

“Ya never even flinched before, ‘n now yer tellin’ me that ya could actually feel getting shot and what not all that time!?”

 

“I usually have been able to keep my body from reacting outwardly, so I wouldn’t be inconveniencing or distracting.” Connor swayed slightly as he tried to walk towards the car, throwing Hank a grateful look, as the older man but a steadying hand on the androids back. “But I seem to have… lost that ability after deviating. The same way I’m not able to… contain any emotions I feel.”

 

“ ‘s alright, son. If somethin’ wants out, it’s always best to let it.”

 

Hank helped Connor into the passenger's seat, walked around the car and started the engine.

 

“Ya know where we can patch ya up? I’ve got me some… first aid stuff, like that blue bullshit ‘n some bandages, ‘n tweezers ‘n whatnot. But I can barely turn on the fuckin’ TV, so maybe we should let somebody else have a look at ya.”

 

Connor stayed silent for a moment, panting as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

 

“There is no need, my self-heal programme will take care of it over time.”

 

“Son, ya got stabbed. Usually, people go ‘n get patched up after beein’ stabbed.”

 

“You have never been concerned with that before, Hank.”

 

Hank almost swerved off the road.

 

“The fuck ya mean?!”

 

“You have never offered to get me… ‘patched up’ when I have gotten injured before”, Connor avoided Hank’s gaze, his head turned to look out of the window. “I… thought it might not be… necessary. I can heal myself in time anyway, and… I can..”

 

Hank felt icy guilt drip down into his stomach. Shit.

 

“Son… fuck… I’ve been a goddamn dick to ya, ‘n I don’t think I know how to apologize properly for somethin’ like that. But I’m fuckin’ sorry for just dragging yer injured ass around without givin’ a shit.” Hank turned the steering wheel, parking the car in front of his house, more or less how he was supposed to park it, only one of the wheels standing on the grass. Hank turned the key in the ignition and his body towards Connor.

 

“Listen’, kid. From now on, if ye’re injured, if ye’re in pain, we’re gonna patch ya up. Doesn’t matter if ya can heal that shit yourself, doesn’t matter if it’s just a scratch. Got that?”

 

Connor looked at Hank, a small, trembling smile stretching over his pale, sweaty face.

 

“Got it.”

 

“Good. Now let’s get yer ass inside and take a look at that cut before ya bleed out on me.”

 

Connor staggered towards the door, Hank doing his best to keep Sumo from jumping the latter.

 

“Let the poor boy in ya mutt”, Hank ruffled Sumo’s head, sending him off towards the kitchen to give Connor enough space to actually walk in.

 

“Damn, didn’t know androids… could sweat. Or get pale. That’s weirdly… weird.”

 

Connor collapsed on the couch, still holding his side, his shirt and jacket now had a dark, blue stain. He watched Hank walk towards the hallway, disappear in the bathroom.

 

“My system usually activates all cooling functions my body posses once I get injured, to keep the chance to overheat as minimal as possible”, Connor grunted in pain as he peeled himself out of his jacket. “The… paleness is the white of my casing shining through my synthetic skin. The more Thirium I lose, the more functions get powered down by my system.”

 

“That’s… something, I guess”, Hank returned just as Connor struggled out of his shirt. “Found the blue stuff ‘n bandages. ‘n some… sewing stuff. Thought that might be useful here.”

 

Connor only nodded, his skin flickering on and off in a few places, watching Hank dump a bottle, some gauze and a small sewing kit onto the couch, next to him, turn towards the kitchen and grab a paper towel, hold it under running water in the sink, and return back to Connor.

 

“Ok, gonna clean ya up quickly and stitch that cut close, unless that’s not somethin’ I should do. Still dunno much about… well, as I said, can barely turn on my TV, ‘n yer way more advanced than a TV.”

 

Connor whimpered slightly as Hank wiped the wet towel over the cut, blue-tinted droplets running down and dropping onto the couch. Hank couldn’t help but frown in sympathy, especially after Connor couldn’t restrain himself from crying out, a guttural sound, laced with static, as Hank dug the tip of the needle into Connor’s synthetic flesh. Hank tried to work quickly, keep his hands as steady as he could with Connor squirming and whimpering under his touch.

They both couldn’t contain a deep sigh of relief as the last stitch was done, Hank throwing the needle and thread to the side without a care.

 

“Well, never been good at arts ‘n crafts, so ‘cuse that mess.”

 

“I think I can live with that…” Connor’s voice was weak, still crackling faintly with static as he leaned heavily against the back of the couch, closing his eyes, barely reacting as Hank wrapped some gauze over the stitches. Hank tied the ends of the gauze together, managing to keep the rest more or less in place, before pushing the bottle with Thirium towards Connor, sitting down on the now free space on the couch.

 

“Drink yer… blood, ya gross idiot.” Hank fumbled for the TV remote, trying to find the right button to turn it on. Picking up the bottle of Thirium, Connor opened it with clumsy fingers and half-open eyes, sipping it slowly, watching the TV flash to life.

 

“So, ya good now?”

 

Connor took a deep gulp of blue blood, his eyes slowly sliding closed as he set the bottle down in his lap. Hank took it out of the androids limp hands, placing it on the coffee table with a snort. A tired android. What a day.

 

“My… self-heal programme should take care of the damage in the next few hours…”

 

Patting Connor gently on the shoulder, leaning back against into the couch himself, Hank propped up his feet on the coffee table, scratching his chest. The suspect was taken care off, they could finish the paperwork tomorrow. There was no need to leave the comfort of their house, no need to even leave the couch.

 

“Well, I think we both deserve some off-time after that shit show.”

 

“I couldn’t agree more.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please consider leaving a comment, I live for them <3


	8. The bad, really not good day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank has a really shitty day.

Hank was getting old. He knew that. And he really did start to notice that one morning, waking up with a stiff neck and a sore back. Wonderfull. He fucking hated his lumpy mattress sometimes, should really get a new one. With a low groan, Hank sat up, trying to stretch as much as his muscles would let him, humming with satisfaction as his bones cracked, relieving at least some of the stiffness. This wouldn’t be a fun day.

 

It began with the sore back, but it didn’t stop there. 

The coffee maker made a fizzing sound as Connor pressed one of the many buttons at its top, Hank watching the whole thing from the doorway, chuckling slightly at the android’s confused face. That damn thing has been acting up for weeks now, Hank only rarely managing to get it to brew coffee, and those times the drink came out lukewarm and disgusting. 

 

“Lemme try Con, fuckin’ thing needs a good smack, ‘s all.”

 

And a smack really did it, making the coffee maker splutter and spit out a few drops of coffee into a cup. Hank grinned. The coffee maker spluttered again, this time sending a spray of hot water into the air, hitting Hank right into the chest.

 

“Ah, fuck!”

 

Jumping in place, Hank tried to pull his now hot and soaked t-shirt off of him, the sudden movement worsening the pain in his back and neck. Gritting his teeth Hank ignored Connor’s helping hands and worried look, shuffling past him to get dressed. He just wanted to get to work and get this day behind him.

He definitely wasn’t looking forward to the car ride. Maybe he would actually let Connor drive this time, the passenger’s seat wasn’t as worn and bumpy as the driver’s seat. But thinking back at the fact that Connor had managed to burn a bowl of cereal, Hank quickly changed his mind. No way in hell would he let that clumsy android near the wheel of his car.

 

\------

 

Hank shifted uncomfortably in his chair, grumbling under his breath. Fuckin’ DPD and their shitty chairs, already a pain in the ass on every other day, but definitely going to kill him on this day. His back was still barely bending, his neck filled with a dull but burning pain. At least it was a deks-day, only paperwork, only sitting around, waiting until it was finally time to go home. Hank was not a stranger to days like this, especially not a stranger to days exactly like this, his body rebelling against him one way or another. He had passed out drunk often enough to have spent many shifts sitting at the precinct with a hell of a hangover. Had gotten shot and stabbed often enough to be stuck with desk duty for a couple of weeks, having him sitting at his desk, working through the pain. 

People usually left him alone on those days. He was already a grumpy man, even without a throbbing head, a sore back or a burning shot wound. But a constant, annoying pain, slowly wearing him down, made him a really unpleasant person to interact with. But of course, that didn’t stop one, certain android.

 

“Is everything alright, Hank?”

 

Hank made a grunting sound, not looking up at Connor as he kept typing at his terminal.

 

“We’re on the clock. ‘s Lieutenant here.”

 

Connor’s raised brow was practically audible.

 

“You have never before been bothered by me addressing you with your first name…  _ Lieutenant _ .”

 

Hank sighed, his mouth pressed into a thin line. He just wanted to get through this shift, get home, get drunk enough to no longer feel his sore muscles. Was it really too much to ask for?

 

“Are you sure you’re alright? You seem to be in...discomfort, you have changed your position about 37% more often in the last hour then you usually do.”

 

Connor was like a son to Hank, the only person he had let that close to himself in years. But even that didn’t keep Hank from growling in frustration, finally raise his eyes to look at the android across from him.

 

“Connor, listen, mind yer own shit, ‘right?”

 

“I will if you answer my question.”

 

Breathing out sharply through his teeth, Hank pushed himself up, slower then he would have liked to, turning away from his desk and walking towards the break room. He needed a coffee, or at least get away from Connor until he snapped at the younger in a way he would regret later.

 

“ ‘right back.”

 

Sending a glare at the few, young officers, that would have made braver and older turn and flee, Hank entered the now empty break room, practically punching the button on the coffee maker. Placing his hands on his hips Hank, turning his upper body from side to side while he waited for the hot, bitter, brown water to pour into a cup, trying to pop his back or relieve the soreness in any other possible way. Instead, he felt a sharp pain shoot up his entire spine, making his breath hitch in his throat. His back was officially killing him now.

 

“Shit..”, Hank groaned, rubbing his neck as he felt the ache travell up to his head, manifest there as a dull throbbing at the bottom of his skull. Grabbing his coffee, swearing again as some of the scalding liquid ran over his fingers, Hank made his way back to his desk. This just wasn’t his day. He just hoped it wouldn’t get worse.

 

But of course, it did.

 

\------

 

A few hours into Hank’s shift, Connor decided to break the silence again. The younger man had decided to let Hank has his peace for a bit after the Lieutenant had returned back from the break room. But Connor couldn’t let the whole thing go. Hank was definitely not alright. And Connor was not only worried but also curious and a negotiator. He knew how to make Hank answer him properly and finally tell Connor what was going on with him.

 

“Lieutenant?”

 

“Hmpf?”

 

“Since it is almost your and my lunch break, would you mind accompanying me to get something to eat?”

 

“Ugh... fine, why not.”

 

Connor watched Hank get up from his chair with a grimace, waiting for the older man to walk first, following swiftly behind him. Connor waited for them to get out of the bullpen and onto the almost empty parking lot, before speaking again.

 

“Hank, I have scanned you several times in the past few hours and your body language and behaviour makes it clear that you are not only uncomfortable but also in pain.”

 

Hank groaned.

 

“Con, seriously, drop it. ‘s just my back.”

 

“And your head.”

 

“How in the hell d’ya know that?”

 

Connor only gave him a sly grin in return. That bastard was getting more cocky with every day.

 

“Whatever, just lemme be, ‘right?”

 

“Or”, Connor placed a hand on Hank’s chest to stop the latter from walking further. “Or you could drive home. I already finished my own paperwork and can do the rest of yours.”

 

“Con, no.”

 

“Yes. You have been 25% less productive in the first few hours and 43% less productive in the last few hours.”

 

“Never expected ya to not only let me but actually  _ tell _ me to skip work.”

 

“If it’s beneficial to your health, I don’t mind.”

 

“Jesus Christ..” Hank pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling his headache worsen with every minute. “Fine, ‘lright. I’m drivin’ home. Ya ok with takin’ a cab back?”

 

“Of course.”

 

“See ya later.”

 

“See you later… Lieutenant.”

 

“Shut up.”

 

\------

 

Hank should have known it. It always happened whenever his neck acted up, the sore muscles causing a splitting headache to form right behind Hank’s eyes. 

Driving home was already hell, the noise, the vibration of the car, the lights. Once home, Hank barely bothered to kick off his shoes or shrug off his jacket, automatically giving Sumo a pat on the head, before collapsing on the sofa, face down and buried between a few pillows.

He just wanted to sleep. Or to die. Both would be equally acceptable.

 

But neither sleep nor death came, Hank suffering through his worsening headache, gritting his teeth at everytime a car drove past his house, or a motorboat roared over the water behind his home. 

With a muffled groan, Hank scrunched his eyes shut, trying to hide from the light that suddenly flooded the room, followed by the sound of a closing door.

 

“Shut the god damn light off.”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

The room was plunged back into darkness immediately, quiet footsteps crossing over to the couch and stopping in front of Hank. Then quiet.

 

“Ya jus’ wanna watch me, or what’s that supposed to be?”

 

“I got painkillers for you.”

 

At that, Hank turned his head just enough to glance through a gap between the pillows.

 

“The hell?”

 

“I know you don’t have any medication at home….which is an issue we should discuss later. And I calculated an 89% chance that your headache would worsen without any aid.”

 

Hank slowly crawled out from under the heap of pillows, sitting up with a groan, fingers pressing against his temples. A hand, holding two, white, round pills appeared right in front of his nose.

 

“Let me get you some water.”

 

Hank dry swallowed the pills out of spite. 

 

“Don’t usually take any, always upsetin’ my stomach…But guess that’s better than this shit.”

 

Letting himself fall back onto the couch, closing his eyes, Hank sighed, hoping the painkillers would kick in soon. it took him a few minutes to notice that Connor was still there, still standing in the same spot as before.

 

“Uh...Maybe sit down? Ya creepin’ me out a bit there.”

 

Moving Hank’s legs to the side, Connor sat down on the couch. It wasn’t unusual for them to share the couch, it wasn’t unusual for them to display physical affection at home. They were practically a family, even if one of them was a depressed, washed-up cop and the other a confused and awkward android. But, even though he usually enjoyed those times, Hank would rather be alone in his misery.

 

“Would ya min-...”

 

Sudden, cool fingers at the back of his neck, startled Hank almost shitless.

 

“Jesus Christ!”

 

Thumbs dug into the muscles of his neck, firmly but not with to much force. Almost instantly the unbearable throbbing in his head lessened, not by much, but enough to stop Hank from complaining further.

 

“I have a very throughout understanding of both android and human anatomy, I should be able to help lessen your discomfort a little bit.”

 

“Thanks”, Hank mumbled into his pillow, letting his eyes slide shut in the hope to finally get a few hours of shuteye.

 

But this day wasn’t done with being as bad as a day could be, practically knocking Hank awake to the light glow of the TV, the sound of one of those cheesy cop dramas Connor loved so much, and a terrible, sour, pulling feeling in his throat.

Ignoring how the sudden motion made his head pound in the same rhythm his heart was beating, Hank almost flung himself off of the couch, scrambling towards the bathroom, barely managing to reach the sink in time, before the coffee from the precinct made a sudden and unwelcome reappearance. Coughing and trying to spit the vile taste out of his mouth, Hank screwed his eyes shut, feeling like they would pop out of his head if he didn’t.

A steadying hand appeared at his back, rubbing soothing circles over his still sore back.

 

“Fuckin’ painkillers, every single time..”

 

“I hope they at least helped with the headache?”

 

“Nope... “

 

“One moment, I have another idea”, Connor said, followed by the sound of running water. “Here.”

 

Accepting a cold washcloth that was pressed to his eyes, Hank let Connor lead him out and into his bedroom, sinking into the lumpy mattress that caused all of this.

 

“Call me if you need anything, I will leave the door open.”

 

“Thanks, Con. Really. ‘n good night.”

 

“Good night Hank.”

 

Hank shifted as he heard Connor leave his room, trying to find a comfortable position. 

 

He really needed a new mattress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a shitty headache today, and the painkillers made me feel sick so I projected onto Hank :'3
> 
> Please leave a comment, I live for them <3<3


	9. Android Aid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor gets shot. Hank learns about android first aid.

Two gunshots rang out almost simultaneously, the sound bouncing off of the bare, stone walls of the small alleyway, sending two bodies to the floor, one dead3 before it hit the ground, one screaming like a broken speaker.

 

“Shit!”, Hank holstered his gun out of reflex, his mind completely occupied by the sudden, steady stream of blue liquid out of his partner's leg.

Throwing himself down on his knees, next to Connor, Hank didn't waste any time ripping the black dress pants of the latter, revealing a heavily bleeding hole in the androids thigh. 

 

“Shit, Connor, run a diagnostic for me, ya bleedin’ like hell.”

 

A whimper escaped through Connor's gritted teeth as he kept his eyes focused on the wound, breath coming in pained gasps.

 

“Con! Focus!”, Hank raised his voice, hands automatically pressing onto the wound to stop the bleeding as far as he could.

 

Connor gave a grunt, his face contorted in pain as his own hands grabbed at his leg, the pain of the injury finally catching up to him completely through the first bout of shock.

 

“Bullet still lodged inside...no main biocomponents hit….”

 

“Ok..good..that we can work with..”

 

Swallowing hard, Connor moaned low, spitting out between clenched teeth: “Main Thiriumline hit….”

 

“Fuck!”

 

That explained the amount of Thirium pouring out of the wound, why Hanks hands wouldn't stop the bleeding. The injury was too heavy, he needed something else. Not a tourniquet, that was a last resort when everything else failed. He needed...something to cover it with, something large enough he could press onto the wound.

Hank shrugged out of his worn winter jacket without a second thought, bunching it up and pressing it firmly against the bleeding hole, wincing as Connor couldn't stifle a scream once the rough material was shoved into his open wound.

 

“ 's ok, Con. Just hang on, I'm gonna call 'n ambulance, they're goin’ to patch ya up 'gain..”

 

“...already did that..”

 

“Thank fuck for the wonders of technology”, Hank let out a weak chuckle, ignoring the wet warmth slowly turning his jacket damp.

 

Trying to struggle into a sitting position, Connor fought against Hank's hands, one trying to still stop the bleeding, the other pushing Connor back down onto the floor.

 

“What the fuck d'ya think yer doin’?”

 

“The bullet...gotta get the bullet out”, Connor's voice was shaky, words breaking off into static.

 

“Ya insane? If that thing's out, yer gonna bleed out even faster!” Hank shouted, pushing down Connor a second time as the latter tried to sit up again.

 

“I'm not human...I...I need it out…”

 

“Shit...fuckin’ androids”, Hank's took a deep breath, forcing down the panic coursing through his body. He had first aid training, he knew how to handle this, he just had to be professional, repress the fact that his only family was bleeding out in front of him.

 

“ 'right, ok, anythin’ else? Any first aid shit that won't help ya?”

 

Connor's eyes moved down to his shot wound again, gaze sticking to the sight out of unfocusing eyes.

 

“Hey! Connor! Concentrate! Anything else I gotta keep in mind?”

 

Connor jerked his head upwards, eyes widening as they looked back towards Hank.

 

“Yes...I...No...no, everything else should be the same...my systems...my body reacts very...human in most cases”, Connor hissed as Hank shifted his hands slightly to get a better grip. “My self-repair program won't be able to...work...work if there is such a large piece of foreign matter...that's why it needs to...to get out…”

 

Hank sighed. This wouldn't be pretty.

 

“Ya still gonna bleed heavier once the bullet's out?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“ 'n I guess I won't be able to stop yer bleedin’ otherwise ‘n yer gonna be gone before the ambulance arrives here?”

 

“...Yes.”

 

“Well..shit..”

 

Gently removing his jacket from Connor's wound, Hank fumbled for his pocket knife. It wasn't the best thing to work with, but definitely better than leaving Connor to bleed out in a damp, stinking alley.

Ripping Connor's pant leg off completely, throwing the damp fabric to the side, while the android's hands already slid open the panel nearest the wound, skin melting off of white plastic as his fingers touched his Thirium covered leg.

 

“Here, bite onto this”, having pulled out his wallet, Hank held it in front of Connor. Hank grumbled lowly at the androids confused face. “So ya don't bite off yer tongue when I pull that fuckin’ bullet outta ya.”

 

Giving Connor a reassuring look, Hank took a deep, steadying breath.

 

“Ok, this is gonna hurt like shit, but ya gotta keep still, got that?”

 

Connor nodded, biting hard into the black leather of Hank's wallet.

The moment Hank's hand had dipped into the open, thirium filled panel on Connor's leg, fingers brushing against wires and tubes, the latter stiffened suddenly, holding his breath, eyes screwed shut tightly.

 

“It's ok, it's alright”, Hank murmured, fingers following the bullet's path, until his fingertips hit something slick and metal, rougher and colder than the plastimetal around it. Connor's leg twitched hard the moment Hank made contact with the bullet, the android sucking in a sharp breath.

 

“Shh, 's alright, just gotta get it outta there, almost done..”

 

Sliding the knife through his hand, until he held the blade between his forefinger and thumb, Hank held his breath, carefully aiming the tip into the crack between bone and bullet. Then, as quickly and gently as he could, Hank wedged the knife into the crack.

The scream Connor let out was completely inhuman, the staticy screech of a feedback loop breaking out of his mouth, his eyes wide open, staring up into the sky while tears formed in their corners.

 

Hank felt his stomach twist into a knot at the sound, but he didn't let his hand falter, concentrating solely on getting the bullet out of Connor's leg.

A wet plop, suddenly making Hank's hand jerking towards himself as the bullet no longer resisted his pushing and pulling, followed by a surge of Thirium, pouring out of the open panel and bullet hole, made Connor's scream die down to a whistling rasp.

 

Shit. That was a lot of blood. A whole lot of blood. Hank dropped the slick knife onto the ground, ignoring the bullet slowly rolling away from them after it had come loose.

The bleeding had already been heavy before, but now it was like unscrewing a bottle and turning it upside down, blood flooding out of Connor's leg, in rhythm with the beat of his Thirium pump.

 

“Fuck, where's that goddamn jacket!” Hank looked around wildly, grabbing the bloody jacket once he spotted it, pressing it onto the wound with as much strength as he deemed safe. Connor barely reacted, head lolling to the side as his whole body twitched lightly, eyes half-lidded, mouth hanging open as his breath came in shallow pants.

 

“Hey, hey! Connor!” Hank felt the panic creep back into his voice, his professional demeanour crumbling more with each moment. “Stay with me! Don't ya dare make all of this diggin’ ‘round yer insides be in vain, ya fuckin’ prick!”

 

“...thirium...thirium pressure low...bad circulation...” Connor's voice was breaking, glitching, screamed raw, shaking because of the pain. “...thirium...thirium volume...45% and dropping…”

 

Fuck! The jacket wasn't doing shit, blood was still seeping out of the hole, out of the still open panel. He had no choice now, Hank had to tie a tourniquet, even if he had no idea how much damage an android’s extremity would take if it was cut off any Thirium. Android's weren't human. Android's needed bullets and knives pulled out of their wounds. There was no android first aid yet, no resources, no first aid kits.

 

Hank grabbed the fabric he had torn off of Connor's pants, pulling it sharply to test its sturdiness, before pushing the jacket out of the way, pushing the strip of fabric under Connor's leg, wrapping it around the limb. Making a knot, Hank pulled tightly, sharp, hard tugs, making Connor whimper and twitch in response to each.

 

“Thirium...pressure...thirium pressure stabilizing...thirium volume...volume 38%..”

 

Hank whiled the sweat off of his forehead, taking a shaky breath. It had worked. Hopefully. 38% was low but if it stayed that way till the ambulance arrived, things should be fine.

 

“Damn...Stay down Con, don't move t'much, dunno how good my knot's.”

 

“I'm...alright now Hank..”

 

“Oh, 'n I thought ya were close ta passin’ out, sorry, my mistake”, Hank grumbled, giving the tourniquet another pull before throwing his bloody but thick jacket over Connor like a macabre blanket.

 

“Just t'keep yer temperature from droppin’... Unless that's not 'n android thing?”

 

Connor threw Hank a small, tired smile: “No, this...this is good.”

 

“Stay ‘wake.”

 

“I...I am trying to..”

 

Sitting down on the ground, crossing his legs in a way his joints would definitely remind him of later, Hank gently pillowed Connor's head on his lap, running Thirium stained fingers through the androids sweaty, cold hair.

 

“Not really good at tellin’ stories, me, but if ya promise ta listen’ 'n stay awake, I could tell ya of my first day at the academy.”

 

Connor's eyes cracked open, wide pupils looking up at Hank as his mouth twitched into another smile.

 

“...would love to...to hear..”

 

“Well, I managed to get lost on the first day”, Hank snorted at the memory. “Got into the wrong room, ten minutes late, trained with the wrong group on a parkour they had there for hours until I realized that I I joined the wrong, fuckin’ class.”

 

Connor made a raspy sound, almost close to a chuckle, Hank raising his brows in amusement.

 

“Came three hours too late to my first course, sweaty 'n covered in mud. People kept jokin’ ‘bout it for years afterwards...” Hank had been mortified back then, but thinking back now, it was incredibly hilarious. “Kept runnin’ into people from the other class too, had to explain ‘bout a hundreth time that I wasn’t actually in their class...But hey, apparently I didn’t do to bad on the parkour, so that was ‘least somethin’.”

 

Connor smiled weakly, his eyes starting to slip shut as he struggled against his exhaustion and shock.

 

“Jeffrey keeps threatening to make that whole thing public at the DPD, don’t think I would live that down, ever. Thank fuck Jeffrey’s a fuckin’ softy…”

 

The sudden sound of sirens interrupted Hank, coming closer with each moment, his heart rate finally starting to slow down. Hank kept sitting on the ground, running his fingers gently through Connor's hair, waiting for the ambulance and thinking about how he needed to learn more about android injuries. 

This definitely wouldn't be the last time he would have to patch his clumsy idiot of a son up, he was sure of it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The nice side effect of writing this is that I now know how to help somebody who gets shot until medics arrive. The downside is that my browser history is rather strange now.
> 
> Please consider leaving a comment, they mean the world to me <3<3


	10. Skin 'n plastic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Android's have skin. Artificial skin. Software projecting it over their chassis, making the result look and feel as real as a human's skin would.  
> But, like all software, this one can glitch out.  
> And Connor isn't dealing well with the consequences.

Connor had never been bothered by his outer appearance. It wasn't that he loved it, or cared much for it. But he also never disliked it. It was just...there. Part of him. He had no real opinion on it, and just didn't feel like actually needing one.

Well, he did enjoy certain aspects of his body. He liked the many freckles that littered his entire skin, how expressive his eyes were - something Connor only noticed after Hank pointed it out - and he liked how his entire form looked in certain clothes. He also enjoyed how he looked without his skin to a certain degree. The many lines, places were his different biocomponents connected to each other, and the colour was just...pleasant to his eyes. 

It wasn't out of vanity or anything similar. It was more because of the fact that he just enjoyed the look of it, no matter if it was part of his body or not. He would have enjoyed it even if it was just a box made out of the same materials, colours and textures those aspects, which Connor enjoyed about himself, were made out of. 

 

But, there was that thing about becoming sentient and alive, suddenly other's opinions would influence you in ways you wouldn't have ever expected.

It started with small things. Coworkers snickering at his new socks, Connor losing any will to wear them again. Hearing random strangers loudly complain about how only a person's biological children were worth something, how everything else was strange and against nature, how children were 'softened up’ when they were given to families that weren't related to them by blood, Connor unable to stop himself from making sure that Hank wanted him in his house, wanted him to be his son, even though they were completely different species, no blood relation at all.

 

But what influenced Connor the most were the comments he kept overhearing about how 'creepy’ a lot of humans found the way androids looked without their artificial skin. 

Most androids enjoyed deactivating their skin at the end of the day, just a comfort thing, like taking off your work shoes after a long shift. Connor wasn't one of them, at first. Not because he didn't want to, but because he just didn't think of it. 

It just didn't enter his head at first, that he could just..wear other clothes. Do things he wanted to do. Eat things he wanted to eat. It had been Hank who had pushed him to at least try, who threw a sweater and some jeans at Connor one day and made the latter realize that he actually could do and wear what he wanted. He could cut his hair. He could pet Sumo. 

 

So Connor deactivated his skin from time to time, mostly when he showered, enjoying the feeling of warm water on his outer shell. He didn't do it in front of others, at first out of a strange kind of nervousness, the same he felt when he first wore clothes he picked himself, or when he styled his hair a different and slightly unusual way.

 

But after he heard the first comment uttered about the way androids looked beneath their skin, “creepy, white, plastic mannequins” as a news anchor had called it, Connor felt a pang of...fear whenever he thought about deactivating his skin in front of others, even in front of Hank. 

He didn't’ have an opinion on his looks at first, but slowly, surely, he started to feel disgusted with the way his chassis glistened strangely in the warm light of the bathroom. The way it was so much smoother than anything organic. The way the colour and texture repelled so many humans, made him just a 'plastic mannequin’ in their eyes.

 

Connor stopped deactivating his skin after that, ignoring the way he wouldn't get rid of the tense feeling that kept building inside of him, the way he almost yearned for how much more he felt without his skin. 

He could handle this, he could handle feeling worse with each passing day, he could handle it all as long as Hank wouldn't see the way the android actually looked like

 

Because Connor could handle everything, everything apart from seeing the disgust in Hank's eyes that would definitely be there if the man ever saw Connor's plastic, white chassis.

 

\------

 

“Oh, no..” Connor breathed out as he woke up from stasis one morning. 

Holding up a completely white hand in front of himself, staring at it as he let the whole impact of this hit him, Connor was sure he had never experienced a worse start to a day.

 

Connor had started to notice a strange error, suddenly appearing the day before. He didn't pay much attention to it, it had just been a warning, telling him about the fact that the software which displayed his synthetic skin, had been running for to long without a break. And Connor knew that. It had been a conscious decision after all.

 

But now it seemed that his software had shut off by itself. 

Connor tried to reactivate it.

 

**[Software currently damaged, reactivation impossible]**

 

Connor tried again.

 

**[Software currently damaged, reactivation impossible]**

 

With a low, frustrated growl, Connor slammed his hand down on his mattress as he tried again.

 

**[Software currently damaged, reactivation impossible]**

 

But Connor wasn't looking at the warning anymore. His attention was fully focused on his hand now, his teeth grinding against each other at the sensation spreading through it. 

Shit.

He hadn't even considered what overloading his skin might cause. It was coupled to his sensitivity setting, after all, something that helped him regulate how strongly he felt something. And Connor had turned it up high, his skin dampening each of his touches, making him long to feel as much as he could without having to turn it off. No wonder both software had fried. He had them running without a break at the highest setting. 

This would take time to repair. To much time. Hank would be getting up in ten minutes, Connor having trained Sumo to bark in front of Hank's door each morning until the older man would wake.

 

Unable to resist the illogical urge to run and hide, Connor walked towards the bathroom as quietly as he could, before locking himself in the room. He had no key for any of the other rooms, only the bathroom having the key in the lock at all times. 

The cold tiles stung his exposed feet, the plastic of his chassis making soft ‘click, click, click’ sounds with each step. 

But that was nothing compared to the flood of information that suddenly assaulted Connor’s senses. Back in his room, only having woken from sleep mode, Connor's system was still reactivating everything one by one, running internal diagnostics, testing installed updates.

But now, now he was fully awake and his exposed chassis registered every, single, small sensation.

 

_ Temperature 21°C _

_ Air humidity 34% _

_ Air circulation 4% _

_ Light intensity 68 %, LED 7 watt _

_ Dust density 9% _

_ Ceramic Tiles:  _

_ crack under component RF1, 1.3 cm depth, 0.5 mm width, 5 cm length _

_ scratch under component RF2 0.14 cm depth, 0.4 cm width, 4 mm length _

_ Substance under component LF3, Sorbitol, Glycerin, Hydrate Silica, Aqua, Xylitol, Aloe Barbadensis Leaf Extract, Melaleuca Alternifolia Leaf Oil, Olea Europaea Leaf Extract, Xanthan Gum, Cellulose Gum, Natural Flavour, Mentha Piperita Oil, Chlorophyllin Copper Complex, Potassium Sorbate _

_ Tile adhesive, hardened, 13 years old: white cement, silica sand, talc, calcite, starch ether, methyl cellulose _

 

Connor recoiled at the flood of data suddenly crowding his vision, each bit of information scratching uncomfortably at his plastic. He could  _ feel _ each crack, each stain, each scratch, each movement of the air, dust hitting his chassis, the warmth of the overhead light, the leftover humidity from countless showers.

It was hell. 

 

Taking a careful step forward, Connor fought against a new flood of information, deciding to stay still, not move, slowly try to blink away the information, get used to feeling too much, everything.

 

A sudden knock at the door startled him enough to make him jump, new tactile information bombarding him at the movement. 

 

“Hey! Con! I told ya a thousand times to style yer fuckin’ hair after I took a piss!”, Hank's voice, rough with sleep. “Why do ya even need that long for hair!? Fuckin’ weirdo..”

 

The last words were muttered with a hint of affection, something that lessened the scratching, stinging pain all over Connor's body. 

Instead, the illogical, mindless panic from before reappeared again with full force. Connor couldn't go to work like this. Apart from the fact that he could barely function, barely handle the data scrolling in his vision, while he was standing in a calm, almost empty room with barely any air circulation, he couldn't let Hank see him like this. He knew the man had found peace in a way, no longer held a grudge against androids, had even adopted Connor as his own son, his own family. But Connor didn't know how much of it was because of Connor's human behaviour and appearance, how much of it would be ruined by how he truly looked. 

 

“I… Can't come out yet!” Connor's voice was slightly raspy with static, his energy mostly going towards his processor at the moment as it handled the flood of data.

 

“The fuck ya mean? Did ya break sometin’?” Hank barked, but an undertone of worry managed to stick to his voice nonetheless. “I swear to god, if ya tried to shave again I'm not takin’ ya to the android hospital ‘nother time!”

  
  


“No! I just...I”, Connor wracked his processor for any good excuse, for anything that would make Hank leave him alone until the whole problem was fixed.

 

“I… I am...sick.”

 

“What?”

 

Silence rang through the house, more bits of information swallowing Connor's vision before he blinked them away again.

 

“Ya androids can get sick?”

 

“Yes.”

 

It wasn't a lie, androids could get sick as humans did. The previous statement had been a lie though.

Because Connor wasn't sick, not in the regular way at least. He was just glitching slightly, overwhelmed. But if he told Hank that he would have to explain, and Hank would know about how Connor really looked.

 

“Well..ya do sound like shit. Uh...Want me to stay home with ya?”

 

“No!”

 

Connor tried and failed to keep his voice calm. He needed Hank gone. He needed Hank gone until his skin was back and working.

 

“Ya sure?”

 

“Y-... Yes. One of us missing work is bad enough, I don't think te captain will approve of both of us staying at home at the same time.”

 

There was a sigh.

 

“Fuck,  ya right...Fowler would tear me a new one.”

 

Connor felt himself sag slightly from relief, the small motion pelleting him with new sensations again. 

 

“So..like..ya need anythin’?”

 

“No, I will be fine in a few hours.”

 

Connor really hoped he would.

 

“Well..uhh..don't puke on the floor. I'll try ‘n be quick.”

 

Connor heard Hank move away from the door, rustle through his wardrobe, feed Sumo, shout a ‘bye’ and close the door behind himself. 

 

Now Connor just had to keep his tactile input to a minimum and he should be able to make it through the day.

 

\------

 

One hour and 34 minutes later, Connor knew that he wouldn't be able to make it.

 

He was breathing fast, trying to cool his overheating system, which kept processing each bit of information that hit his chassis. Even staying completely still didn't stop bombardment, everything in the room setting off his sensors.

He had to lessen the input, had to lessen it to a minimum or it would make him go crazy. Connor just couldn't handle it any longer, no break, no time to even hear himself think. 

 

Making sure to keep his motion to a minimum, Connor took a step forward. The bathtub was perfect. He could lie in it and shield himself from the rest of the room, only having to deal with his own clothes and the ceramic insides of the tub.

 

The first step was successful, slightly shaky from low energy, sending another flood of data -  _ crack under component RF3, 1.1 cm depth, 1.2 mm width, 7 cm length -  _ to scroll in front of Connor's eyes. The second step was harder, all energy being redirected towards powering Connor's processor.

The third step sent Connor down onto the floor, his foot slipping -  _ raised moisture level under component RF2 _ \- his body crumpling in on itself as it collided with the cold tiles.

Connor couldn't even scream as he was swallowed whole by sensations, his entire body burning where it came in contact with the floor, the tub or itself.

 

_ ERROR _

**_Warning_ ** _ , component RT#231, fracture, length 5 cm, depth 0.2 cm, depth 3 cm _

**_Warning_ ** _ component LT#417, fracture, length 2 ©m, width ¿ cm, depth 0.5 cm _

**_Warning_ ** _ component H#7§20, dislodged _

**_Warning_ ** _ Core Temperature rising, cooling procedure enabled _

_ Substance located under component RH327  _

_ Lathanol LAL, Sal, Cocos Nuc&fera (Coconut) Oil, Arctium Lappa Extract, Inu/in, Simmondsia Chinensis Seed Oil, Distearoylethyl Dimonium Chl0Гide, Coco-Caprylate, Lecithin, Glyc{rin, Brassica Oleracea S&ed Oil,, Rhus Ver&ciflua Peel Cera, Squalane, Calc@um Carbonate, Perfume, Tocopherol, Helian·{us Annuus Se§¿ Oil, C|tral, Lim§¿ene _

_ Tem&#per[¥ure 21°C _

_ Air humidity 3§% _

_ ~ir c¤§culation 4% _

_ L¥ght intГ&#°sity 68 %, LED#% watt _

_ DГst ៛§ensity 9% _

_ Ce`{μmic T§les:  _

_ cr@#k under c§Г°ponent R¥Г, 1.©§cm de§₹h, 0€# mm w#idθh, 5 cm len&#gth _

_ scratch u¿¥er com#%nent RF°^ #:14 cm d÷”th, ×$4 cm width, §μm $&}th _

_ E§°₹ &$ st0p sГ0p  _

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Connor couldn't see, barely hear, only feel, too much, more than he could handle. He only had one thought stuck in his head, get into the bathtub, it might help, it might make this stop, please make it stop. 

Crawling blindly towards the tub, Connor moaned in agony as his bare chassis slid over the smooth tiles of the bathroom, each movement like nails dragging over a chalkboard.

Pulling himself over smooth porcelain -  _ residue of mud detected under component ST2103 _ \- that stung like icy knives, Connor practically collapsed into the bathtub, surrounded by clean, quiet walls as he covered his face with his hands -  _ plasti-metal chassis, cleaned 14 hours ago _ \- trying to shield himself from everything around him.

 

He couldn't -  _ porc@lain temperature 6 °C _ \- do this any longer. He needed it to stop. He couldn't take -  _ All Clean brand, lemon, lem0n, le&o¥, l§m¤n scent _ \- the flood of information, the stinging pain, the burn, everything. It was just to -  _ cleaned ¿3 days ago, clea§ed, clean, frθe from d|rt or pollutio _ n - much and it wouldn't stop, he couldn't hide, there was nothing he could do about it.

Rocking slightly inside the tub, Connor let the information scroll past his covered vision, over and over and over again. He just needed something, somebody, anything.. he needed...he needed Hank.

 

A sudden knock at the door almost overloaded Connor's processor, auditory information being added to the heap of tactical he already had piled in it.

 

“Hey? Con? Ya still in there?”

 

Connor didn't think, he couldn't anymore with all of his processing power being used for useless analyzes, but he acted. 

Practically collapsing onto the floor -  _ Ceramic Tiles, gl@zed, slightly worn, repla©ement n0t necessary _ -, Connor heaved himself out of the bathtub, half crawling half running towards the door. His hand met the doorknob -  _ ¿°C, polished from use _ \- rattling the locked door to no avail, his voice coming as pure static as he whimpered in frustration. His other hand scratched over the wood -  _ Cl§rk's P@intshop, paint N° 361 _ 9 - of the door, clumsily unlocking it, pulling it open with all the force he could muster. 

 

Connor's body moved on its own, ignoring the way his clothes set his nerves on fire through the fast motion, flinging itself against the warm, solid mass in front of him. The android sobbed in relief as familiar data flooded his vision, pushing everything else away.

 

Male, 53 years -  _ Hank _ \- 73 BPM - _ safe _ \- Blood Pressure 128/25 -  _ comfort _ \- slight arrhythmia -  _ warmth _ \- temperature 36.8°C -  _ family _

 

Connor’s hand slid over a cotton shirt -  _ H@nk _ \- pulling his body closer to the grounding, warm, presence. He smelled stale smoke and cheap aftershave -  _ Hank _ \- felt strong arms wrap around him as he tried to hide away from everything -  _ Hank _ \- and hold him in place, even as his legs started to slip away under him. The flood of data slowed down to a trickle, his vision only filled with the ingredients of Hank’s shampoo -  **_Hank_ ** \- the heart rate that had risen but was slowly lowering again -  **_Hank_ ** \- the gentle, soothing words pouring into his barely active audio processors -  **_dad_ ** -.

 

Connor must have shut down temporarily, because he came to on the couch, still held by warm arms, fingers running over the top of his head. Not trough hair. Over his bare chassis.

 

“Hey, calm down, ‘s just me!”

 

Hank barely managed to avoid losing a few teeth as Connor suddenly shot up, almost knocking his head into Hank’s chin. Scrambling frantically, Connor tried to hide, get away, hide his skinless form from Hank. But the moment he was no longer wrapped in a safe blanket of warmth and pressure, everything he could feel was the rough fabric of the couch, tearing at him, his clothes rubbing over his body like sandpaper, the light burning his sensors, everything too much, everything just too much.

 

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s ok, just breath, can ya do that for me? Just… fuck, take a breath, in ‘n out.”

 

Hand’s, sending out waves of calming familiarity from where they held him, pulled him back, Connor’s own arms wrapping around the warm shape instinctively. This was safe. This was calm. This was the only thing slowing the relentless flood of data, assaulting him from all sides.

 

“Come on, ‘s not that hard, just follow my breathin’.”

Connor only gripped the back of Hank’s shirt tighter. It was better, but still, too much, he couldn’t, he couldn’t control his own body, all his processing power trying to filter through new and old information. But he had to breath, he had to cool his core, he was overheating, he needed air.

 

“In.” Connor felt Hank’s chest expand, mimicking the motion as he breathed in deeply, struggling with rerouting enough processing power for this task.

 

“Out.” Connor let the hot air flow out of his mouth, feeling the temperature inside of him drop by a fraction.

 

“In.” It was easier to reroute power this time, most old information had already been processed and filed away, and the new one was sparse, familiar, just flowing through his head like warm, soothing water. There was no need to analyze it, he knew Hank, he spent time with the man every day, he knew each bit of data he could receive, he only had to file them away, let them shield him from everything else.

 

“Out.” He was safe. He was calm. He was finally able to think again.

 

\------

 

“Ya even need to breath?”, Hank said as Connor slowly relaxed again, his body no longer stiff and trembling, instead leaning heavily against Hank’s torso. “Or did I just make a fool outta myself?”

 

“No more than usually…”

 

Connor’s voice was weak, quiet and static, like a broken radio on low volume. Hank huffed, a grumpy sound, trying and failing to hide his amusement and relief.

 

“Good to hear ya talk, ‘stead of that fuckin’ dial-up noise that kept coming outta yer mouth.”

 

Connor slid closer to Hank, burying his face in the folds of the t-shirt. He hadn’t even thought about his voice modulator. As if it wasn’t enough that he was skinless, plastic, no longer human to look and touch. He had also sounded like a broken machine.

He hadn't wanted Hank to see, and now Hank had seen all.

 

“I’m… I’m so sorry.”

 

“Don’t worry, whatever that was, wasn’t yer fault.”

 

“No...not that.”

 

Hank shifted slightly, brows raised as he looked down at the top of Connor’s head.

“What’d ya mean?”

 

“I’m sorry that… that you have to see me like this.”

 

Silence. Connor had known it. Hank hated how he truly looked. Hank hated that he wasn’t human after all, only pretending. Hank hated that he was just plastic. Hank…

 

“Jesus Christ, kid. Ya fuckin’ kiddin’ me? Why in the fuck would I give a single shit ‘bout how ya look?” Hank’s voice was a deep growl, confused and annoyed, but still warm, not angry, not disgusted. “Look at me. Don’t give a shit ‘bout how I look either. Why should I care how other’s look, if I don’t even care ‘bout myself?”

 

“Because I’m an android.”

 

“ ‘n my fuckin’ son.”

 

Warmth, swept through Connor’s entire body, the feeling sending tears into the corners of his eyes, his processor replaying the last word over and over again. Hank called him son more often than not, had even told him a few times how he truly saw the android, how Connor was his family. But it always filled Connor with such, pure, wonderful happiness, whenever Hank said it like this. Not as a term of endearment, but rather spoken full of sincerity.

 

“Why would’tcha even think I’d be fucked up by seein’ ya like this?” Hank had begun running fingers over the top of Connor’s head again, warm skin stroking over smooth plastic. “I was kinda spooked for a moment there as ya barreled outta the bathroom without skin, but not that hard to recognize yer goofy face, ‘n that was that.”

 

“I…”

 

Connor wasn’t sure if he should tell Hank. If he should mention how he let the opinions of other’s, of other’s he didn’t even know, influence him. How he became disgusted with himself, the same way all those humans were.

 

“I…”

 

Would Hank be mad? At him? At those other humans? Would Hank change his own opinion? Or think that Connor was weak, letting words alone change him so much?

 

“I…”

 

But what else should he say?

 

“I let… certain human’s opinions… influence my own perception of.. of… of how I.. look.” Connor swallowed thickly. It was easier to talk about this like it was just facts like he was just analyzing a situation, a crime scene, not talking about himself. “I became.. uncomfortable. And I… I may have feared that you could… share those human’s opinions…”

 

There was a sigh, rough hair touching the top of Connor’s head as the older man planted a brief kiss onto the android’s forehead.

 

“Oh, Con… yer such ‘n idiot, ya know that?”

 

Connor couldn’t help it. He laughed. Staticy, broken, glitching. But nonetheless a true laugh. 

 

“What?”

 

“I just… always enjoy how straightforward you are.”

 

“Yeah, Hank ‘Straightforward’ Anderson, that’s how everybody calls me ‘fter all.”

 

Connor chuckled again. It seemed almost foolish now to have feared that Hank would be disgusted, that Hank would resent Connor. But a part of Connor still needed to...hear it.

 

“So...you are not...reppeled by how I.. actually look?”

 

Hank snorted.

 

“Fuck no. The only thing ‘bout ya that repels me ‘s when ya put five pounds of hair wax into yer hair. That’s disgusting.”

 

Connor let the tears fall, let them slip silently over his cheeks. He was just so relieved. He had been terrified, terror, turning into self-hatred. But now. Now he wasn’t scared anymore. He was still… uncomfortable. Still disgusted with his own looks. But it was so much better, now that he knew that Hank accepted him, even without skin, even without a human voice.

 

“So...while we’re at it”, Hank kept his tone casual, but Connor knew this wasn’t just small talk. “Mind tellin’ me what went on with ya today? Locked yerself in the bathroom, almost knocked me off my fuckin’ feet ‘ just collapsed. Don’t know much ‘bout androids, but I’m pretty sure that’s not normal.”

 

Connor fidgeted slightly, his fingers moving the fabric of Hank’s shirt between them in a way he often did, only to stop as the touch assaulted his sensors, made him flinch.

 

“I...had some trouble with my skin today.”

 

“Ya don’t say…”

 

“Hank, I’m serious.”

 

“Alright, ‘right... so what’s the problem?”

 

Connor ran a tongue over his lips, trying to find the right words. Hank always got impatient when Connor talked in what the older man called “tech babble”.

 

“My skin...has to be deactivated from time to time, so the software will have a ...kind of rest-period. Since most androids deactivated their skin out of routine, before the revolution, and now out of comfort, there usually isn’t a problem..”

 

“But ya didn’t do that, did ya?”

 

Connor shook his head and Hank sighed again.

 

“Ya idiot.”

 

“I know.”

 

“So...yer skin wasn’t workin’ ‘caus of that? But what ‘bout all that other shit?”

 

“I was getting...uncomfortable, after having my skin activated for so long without a rest. I tried to relieve that by turning up my sensitivity since the artificial skin dampens all sensations considerably.. and.. it...got.. got stuck. It still is.” Connor grimaced. It definitely still was, he could feel it in every inch of his being. “I’m currently unable to handle the sensation of touch, my processor analyzes every little thing I come in contact with. Even light is a problem.”

 

“Oh, shit.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Connor felt Hank move of his hands and heard him scratch his beard, before wrapping both arms around Connor again.

 

“But ya...not collapsin’ at the moment.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Do I really have to pull each bit of information outta ya?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Hank grumbled under his breath, swearing as he felt Connor smirk against his chest.

 

“Bastard…. So, ya mind tellin’ me what’s...keeping ya up ‘n runnin’ right now?”

 

“It’s you.”

 

Connor felt Hank tense, the beginning of regret pouring down his throat. He shouldn’t have said that. It was stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid…

 

“Oh. That’s… That’s cool, I guess.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Silence again. Hank was still tense, but slowly sinking back into his slouched position again.

 

“So...uhh...anythin’ ya need to get back to not meltin’ that brain of yer’s, whenever ya touch somethin’?”

 

“I require to go into sleep mode to speed up the repairs.”

 

“How ‘bout ya do that?”

 

“I can’t.”

 

Connor couldn’t. Even with Hank’s presence, there was still too much ripping and tearing at his body, still too much data drowning him from the inside. 

 

“I… I still get… assaulted by too much input. I need..I need…”

 

“A distraction?”

 

“Yes. That would be…But I can’t ask that…”

 

Hank chuckled.

 

“Jesus, kid, what’cha want me to do? Do a jig?”

 

“No...I just...I...A rhythmic movement over my chassis has so far been the most calming thing.”

 

“Ya want me to pet yer head?”

 

“Yes.”

 

A hand started stroking over the top of Connor’s head again, slow, warm, familiar, alive. Connor rerouted his processor power as much as he could, his energy level low enough to make him feel drowsy the moment he was distracted, the moment the information stopped rushing through him.

His eyelids fluttered, slipping shut as his body began to feel weightless.

 

“Thank you..dad..”

 

He barely felt the way Hank tensed, didn’t see the way a shocked face, melted into a soft, small smile.

And then Connor was out like a light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forehead kisses are always so soft and squeeze my heart <3<3  
> I just needed some good, old, family cuddling
> 
> \--
> 
> Please consider leaving a comment, they always make my entire week <3<3


	11. Will Hank ever eat healthy? More at 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eating at a fast-food place, known for its bad hygiene, has its disadvantages.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watch me struggle to try and use Fahrenheit, just to give up and use Celcius after all

“I did warn you about the bacteria I detected when I consumed my food and the high possibility of the same bacteria being present in your food since we ordered the same thing.”

 

Connor had told Hank. He had. Multiple times. And Hank hadn’t listened even once. But still, Connor felt bad for the older man, currently curled up on the sofa, pale and miserable, even if this was caused by Hank’s own stupidity.

 

“ 'n I told ya, if ya eat it, I will too,” Hank said through gritted teeth, fighting against another bout of nausea as a shiver wracked his body, his arms clutching his stomach.

 

They had gone out to eat something on their lunch break, going to the chicken feed, as usual, Hank ignoring Connor's complaints that the food was unhealthy and Gary still hadn't had his food hygiene license renewed, also as usual.

Connor had practically devoured his burger, still getting used to feeling hungry from one of the new updates Cyberlife had released after the revolution, just to freeze after his last bite, as he noticed an unusual amount of bacteria inside the meat.

But Hank hadn't listened, just taking a large bite while staring Connor straight into the eyes. He was used to the food, he had said. You had to get used to shitty food, he had said.

And now he was paying the price.

 

They had come home after a long shift, Connor keeping an eye on Hank as he had noticed how the detective had gotten paler, a thin sheet of sweat glistening on his face. They had settled for their usual after-work routine, watching TV, sitting together on the couch, Connor noticing how Hank kept holding his abdomens, gritting his teeth, before suddenly rushing to the bathroom, retching up what was left of his lunch.

 

“I'm fine”, Hank had groaned out as Connor rubbed gentle circles on his back, holding the other's hair out of his face.

 

“Sure you are..” Connor had muttered back as he checked Hank's temperature, before helping the latter to the couch, pressing a plastic bucket into his hands and walking off to retrieve a light blanket that would be comforting but not raise his already climbing temperature.

 

And now they were here, Hank taking up the couch as a moaning heap, Connor sitting in the recliner, legs pulled up loosely, the way he preferred to sit at home.

 

“I did warn you multiple times about the chances of something like this happening if you kept going there for lunch.”

 

“Shut up.”

 

“And I also warned you right away as I noticed that the food was contaminated.”

 

“And I said shut up.”

 

“It’s your own fault.”

 

“It’s gonna be yer own fault when I punch ya.”

 

Connor threw an annoyed look at the other, opening his mouth to further lecture him about the dangers of food poisoning and how easily it could have been avoided, but stopped as Hank groaned lowly and curled up tighter. Connor’s face softened. Even if it was Hank’s fault, there was no use in making him more miserable, than he was already. He could lecture him later. Maybe switch all the food for vegetables and all beer for juice. But not now.

 

“Should I get you a warm water bottle?”

 

“No..”

 

“It might help.”

 

Hank groaned again. “Fine. If ya get off my dick ‘bout this whole thing afterwards..”

 

Connor stood up with a light smile, patting Hank on the shoulder as he passed him, the same way the other often did to Connor, before making his way towards Hank’s bedroom, trying to find a warm water bottle in this mess of a house.

Hank’s wardrobe was, as always, strangely empty and full at the same time. The man only owned a few pieces of clothing, and still, items managed to somehow fill the entire space of the rather large wardrobe. Looking past patterned shirts and a large heap of jeans - why one person, who would wear the same pair almost every day, needs so many, was still a mystery to Connor - Connor started rummaging through the pile of various items at the bottom of the wardrobe. 

A flashlight, a few old batteries, a collection of single socks, still missing their partners, some boxer shorts, a few belts, two empty shopping bags and, for some reason, a box of thin mints. But no warm water bottle.

 

Connor stood up again, LED suddenly turning yellow for a cycle as he felt a light stab in his artificial stomach. That was strange. Maybe he accidentally managed to shift a Thiriumline without noticing, and it had just moved back into place. That has happened before, even though it usually didn’t cause any pain, just a small amount of discomfort for a moment. Connor shrugged. He would run a diagnostic before entering sleep mode tonight, just to make sure. It couldn’t be anything too sever and he had no time to worry about it right now.

Leaving the bedroom, Connor heard Hank moan quietly, shift on the couch and grumble something under his breath. Connor chuckled quietly at the muted swears, the sound just being so typically Hank that it made warmth blossom in Connor’s chest.

Opening the bathroom door, Connor wasn’t surprised to see that the room was a mess as well. Of course, Connor helped Hank keep the house clean, often tidying up himself, but mostly pushing Hank to pick up clothes and old bottles, throw them into the wash and trash. It just felt like the right thing to do. And the house had gotten considerably cleaner since Connor had first stepped foot in it, containing more fresh clothes than dirty ones, less empty beer bottles and takeout containers. But it was still far from being in the state Connor would prefer it to be.

 

Looking through the shelves of one of the wooden cupboards, Connor frowned as he couldn’t find what he was looking for. He was sure Hank owned a warm water bottle, he was sure he had even seen it before. But where it could be, that was a question Connor had no answer for. Trying to find something in this house was often like looking for a needle in a stack of beer cans, soft drink bottles and old socks.

Opening the lower part of the cupboard, Connor barely managed to catch the blowdryer that suddenly had tumbled out of it, placing it back as he scanned the other items inside.

An electric razor, some bottles of shampoo, which Connor had bought a while ago so they wouldn’t run out of it, a few fresh towels and exactly what Connor was looking for, a red warm water bottle inside a fluffy, grey cover.

 

Grabbing it and unscrewing the lid, Connor walked to the kitchen, filled the water kettle and switched it on. 

 

“I found it.”

 

“Great.”

 

“Are you alright?”

 

“Feel like I’m gonna be puking my insides out any moment, but yeah, peachy.”

 

As the water started to boil, Connor poured it into the rubber bottle, crouching down next to Hank as he handed the now warm and screwed shut bottle to the other while placing a hand against his forehead.

 

“Stop checkin’ my fuckin’ temperature.”

 

“You do have a mild fever and I want to make sure it won’t rise.”

 

“Don’t worry ‘bout that, I don’t really get fevers. Just a bit warmer for a couple o’ hours ‘n that's that.”

 

“But..”

 

“No.”

  
  


Hank turned around on the sofa, pressing the warm water bottle to his stomach while ignoring Connor, muttering something about “fuckin’ androids”, a sentence that made Connor shake his head with a barely suppressed smile. Knowing that he was fighting a losing battle, Connor sat back down in the recliner with a sigh, ignoring another sudden stab in his upper abdomens. Hank was probably right, his temperature had already dropped slightly and showed no sign of rising. But Connor still felt the need to stay with him in the living room, to keep an eye on him. Just to make sure.

Letting his eyes drift shut, Connor started a self-diagnostic. He had nothing else to do at the moment, so why shouldn’t he use that time to figure out what was causing his discomfort?

 

\------

 

_ Self-diagnostic interrupted _

_ Please exit stasis _

_ Error detected _

_ Please exit stasis _

_ Self-diagnostic impossible _

_ Please exit stasis _

 

Connor rose from his stasis to muddled thoughts and a suffocating warmth, similar to the one he experienced when Sumo decided to use the android as a sleeping spot. The first thing he noticed was the missing weight from the St. Bernard and the fact that Connor had woken before his self-diagnostic was finished before he even had entered stasis fully. Shaking his head against the disorientation, caused by fragments of code flooding his head and vision, Connor pried open his eyes to a dimly illuminated living room, the TV still turned on, volume muted, Hank still on the couch, his back turned towards Connor.

 

Getting up, his legs strangely heavy, his head too light, Connor tried to shake off the strange feeling. He was used to feeling a bit off whenever he was interrupted while running a self-diagnostic, but this was..new. Different. Not good. But nothing he couldn’t handle. 

Connor shuffled towards the couch, his mouth twitching into a smile at the ungodly snores coming from the man sleeping on it. Placing a hand on Hank’s forehead, the smile turned into a frown, Connor’s eyebrows furrowing as his sensors told him that the other’s fever had risen up to 39.6°C. Connor checked again, just to receive the same result. Strange. Hank’s skin felt much cooler then it should. 

Opening his list of objectives with a mere thought, Connor added a reminder to check his artificial skin later, it did dampen some of the sensory input. Something seemingly disrupted some of his sensors. But it wasn’t anything urgent, Connor had gotten used to having his sensors dampened, still uncomfortable with turning off his artificial skin most of the time. 

 

Ignoring the strange feeling and the still present discomfort in his stomach, Connor stretched lightly and walked towards the bathroom. A small first aid kit, one Connor insisted on getting, filled with various medication that could come in handy, was tucked away nicely in one of the cupboards. Even though Hank had insisted that it wasn’t necessary, that he still had one with some bandages and band-aids, and that that should be enough, Connor still got a second one, filling it with some over the counter pills against headaches, colds and everything else he could find. Hank had gotten a first-aid kit for androids, so it just seemed right to Connor to get one that could be used by Hank too.

But Connor hadn’t known much about how to aid a sick human, and he still didn’t, and the kit ended up only being filled with painkillers, band-aids, gauze, and some cough juice. Connor shook his head as he opened the small, plastic box, noting that none of this would be useful in this situation. He needed something to bring down Hank’s fever...and he needed to find out what that something was. 

 

A quick online search and a pair of shoes later, Connor found himself outside, bundling up tightly in the jacket he had bought with his first paycheck. He wasn’t used to feeling so cold, even Detroit’s winters were usually more bearable. And now it was almost spring, a mild evening with a gentle breeze, but Connor still couldn't keep down a shiver as he walked through the dim light of the streetlamps.

 

Making his way slowly towards the nearest automatic store, the only kind that would still be open this late, Connor swallowed hard against the tight sensation in his gut and entered, making his way through the almost deserted aisles.

Flicking on his scanner briefly, Connor spotted the right medication, taking two, as well as some that would help with nausea, also grabbing a few other things that might come in handy. He could as well stock up the first-aid kit, while he was here. 

Grabbing a few isotonic drinks, and some zwieback, Connor paid with a flash of his LED, leaving the store, and fighting against the cold that seemed to seep into every inch of his being.

 

\------

 

Coming back home, Connor struggled to open the door as he fought against a pulling in his throat and a sharp pain in his abdomens. The icy feeling inside of him has gotten worse on his way back home, as well as the uncomfortable sensation, which made him feel as if some of his biocomponents had become dislodged, and were now tumbling freely through his torso.

Dumping the things he had bought on the recliner, Connor checked Hank's temperature again while trying to run a quick self-diagnostic on himself.

 

Furrowing his brows at the results, Connor noted that Hank's temperature had dropped slightly, even though he still felt colder to Connor's hands, and his own self-diagnostic ended before it had finished.

Sighing, Connor shook the other man awake, slapping him lightly on the cheek as the other only grumbled in return.

 

“Fuck, Connor, lemme be.”

 

“I got something that will help with your fever and nausea. I need you to sit up or at least get up enough to swallow the pills.”

 

“Ugh, Con, don't need any fuckin’ pills. Told ya that I don't really get fevers.”

 

Connor swayed slightly on the spot, the last part of Hank's sentence drowning out in static, pressing in on Connor from all sides. 

 

“Your...your fever is at 39.2°C at the moment...I will.. I just..”, Connor shook his head lightly, glad that Hank's gaze was currently turned away from him. He didn't want to bother the other with this strange error, not while Hank was sick.

 

“I will go and fetch you a glass of water, stay here”, Connor spoke through the sudden haze, swallowing hard as he kept his body from shivering again through his own stubbornness, putting Hank's comfort before his own, not wanting to worry the older man. 

 

“Wasn't plannin’ on goin' anywhere..”

 

Wrapping his arms over his aching stomach, Connor made his way towards the kitchen, stretching up towards one of the cupboards to grab a clean glass. A sharp, long pain flooded his torso at the motion, making Connor curl up again, dropping the glass he had just taken out of the cupboard.

 

“Ah, fuck! Ya good there? Don't cut yerself.”

 

Connor panted through the pain, watching as static covered his vision, pressed into his head, his eyes, his ears, through everything, into his brain, making the freezing cold rush through him in wracking shivers. The static became denser, darker, until it turned into a plain, cool blanket of black, swallowing him entirely.

 

\------

 

Waking up to a sickening feeling, Connor pushed himself upright in a frenzy, fighting through darkness, static and a sudden heap of error messages, swarming around him like pesky flies.

Too much information, too many warnings.

 

_ Thirium tainted by foreign bacteria _

_ Purge recommended _

 

Connor gagged, trying to figure out where he was, how he could get to the bathroom, how he could anywhere else so he wouldn't throw up blue blood all over Hank's home.

 

_ Purge overridden _

_ Purge recommended _

 

Fighting against his own system, Connor concentrated on overriding the purge another time, fighting through new heaps of information, broken code from his interrupted diagnostics still flooding his head, making the code he needed disappear in between them.

 

_ Purge overridden _

_ Core temperature elevated _

_ Gyroscope malfunctioning _

 

Connor's head swam, his body floating and falling.

 

_ Thirium contaminated _

_ Purge necessary _

 

Something hard and smooth was suddenly pressed into his hands, jumbled words meeting his audio processors and it was too much. He couldn't override the purge anymore, too much information clouding his vision, broken code piercing through his brain, cold, now turned to heat, burning him from the inside.

 

“Jus’ let it out, son. Damn, seems like that shitty food knocked ya off yer feet too.”

 

Spitting blue blood into the bucket in his hands, Connor gritted his teeth against the urge to retch again, moaning through the haze and static.

 

“D̵a͞d͘...?” Connor choked on his stinging voice modulator, swallowing hard as he felt nausea rise up in his throat again, blue blood spilling into the bucket as he retched again with a groan.

 

“Shh, I'm here, 's alright”, a gentle hand appeared on his forehead, steadying him as another rubbed firm circles on his back. “Damn 'n I thought this shit has gotten me bad, but yer fuckin’ burnin’ up.”

 

Connor only whimpered in response, curling up against the stabbing pain in his abdomens, letting Hank take the bucket out of his hand, the others footsteps leaving for a moment, returning only moments later to press a clean bucket into Connor's hands. 

Connor felt the older man sit down on the sofa next to him, the furniture sagging slightly under the added weight, invisible to Connor through all the errors and static. 

Feeling too miserable to care, Connor curled up further, leaning against Hank's solid form next to him, shivering despite the heat burning in his core.

 

“Don't think ya can just swallow some of those pills, right?”

 

“N͡o̕..”

 

“Well, guess we both just gotta sit 'n wait this shit out then.”

 

Hearing the TV turn on, Connor closed his eyes, listening to the sound of the room, the steady breathing of the man next to him, the sudden clack, clack, clack of dog paws that came towards the couch, followed by a big body spreading out over Connor's and - apparent by the affectionate swearing - also Hank's lap.

 

Even though Connor was miserable, hot and in pain, the two warm bodies beside him, the whispered, soft cooing and scratching of a furry head and the happy panting from Sumo, made the whole ordeal a bit more bearable. Sighing, Connor just drifted in the moment, listening to the world around him.

 

\------

 

A few days later, Connor watched Hank take a large bite of his burger.

 

“I am slightly...surprised that you would choose to eat here again after that….uncomfortable experience.”

  
  


Hank only smirked through a mouth full of chicken and lettuce.

 

“Gary promised me free food for a week for that shit, so this place’s good in my book ‘gain.”

 

Connor only shook his head, curling his lip at Hank’s carelessness, before stretching out his hand, wiping his finger through some of the sauce that was dripping down the back of the burger, bringing it up to his mouth while ignoring Hank’s annoyed but amused look.

 

What could he say, he just really liked the sauce here.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanna write me some soft boys.  
> I love me some soft boys
> 
> \---
> 
> Please leave a comment, I love them with my entire being!


	12. Words can hurt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gavin is a prick

Connor had noticed how other's words and comments would affect him mentally and physically, now that he was a deviant. They made him uncomfortable, angry and sometimes frustrated. But apart from the fact that they made him self conscious about his appearance, especially without his skin, they usually didn't have a hard or long impact.  
Until they did.

The way Gavin behaved towards Connor hadn't changed much since their first meeting. The always present insults, threats and unfriendly jokes, the glares, snarks and rude gestures. But the incident that had left Connor and Gavin at the mercy of a psychopathic kidnapper, resulting in Gavin getting poisoned and Connor overheating badly enough to shut down temporarily, did have a good side about it. Gavin's behaviour had become more bearable, he had even left a card at Connors desk, which had a rather unfriendly thank you scrawled into it.   
But like all good things, even that came to an end. After a while, Gavin began to slip back into his usual demeanour, and Connor could only sigh as the insults that were thrown his way, doubled in amount again.

But Connor had become used to dealing with it….well, no, not at all. He still barely understood his emotions, and such provocations often left him confused and doubting himself. Was he really just a heap of plastic? Was he maybe not feeling at all? Why was he still doing what he was programmed to do? Why was he so incredibly bad at expressing his emotions, still so much like the machine he had been, or maybe still was?  
But usually they didn't result in him feeling trapped and afraid, his emotions overpowering him like an electrical surge, making his auditory sensors fail, his eye lubricant leak, no matter how hard he tried to override that subroutine.  
Well...until they did.

A normal day, paperwork, coffee, chatting with Chris in the breakroom, sighing at Gavin's rude remarks. Connor shook his head as he noted how Gavin's already rather annoying behaviour was worse than usual, his insults far harsher, and more aggressive than the days before. 

“Hey, tinman!”

Connor took a deep breath, waiting for the coffee machine in front of him to finish pouring the hot liquid into the small, plastic cup, before turning around and facing The detective. The other’s face was red with anger, upper lip curling as he strode towards Connor, closing the door of the break room behind him. That was not good. Connor took a step back, instinctively, trying to appear as non-threatening as he could, hoping he would be able to calm Gavin down.

“Detective Reed?”

“You fucking piece of shit!”

That was definitely not good.

“You seem to be..angry, detective. Did I do something to upset you?”

“Did you...are you fucking kidding me you stupid, plastic cunt!?” Gavin almost growled, stalking closer to Connor, jamming a finger into the android's chest. Connor's thirium pump began to beat faster, despite his tries to put it back into its usual rhythm.

“You went to Fowler about my case!”

Oh...that's what this was about.

“Yes. I apologize if I have offended you, but I couldn't help but notice that you became violent towards a suspect, and…”

“You ratted on me you plastic prick!”

“I didn't mean t-...”

Gavin let out a harsh, humourless laugh.

“Can't say I'm surprised! You're just a crappy, broken, little robot,” Connor felt as if he had received a blunt hit to his stomach. “You really don't give a shit about others, you just pretend to feel and be alive. But then you stab us, actual, living things in the back without giving a fuck, don'tcha?!”

Connor opened his mouth to reply, but his throat was dry and uncooperative, so he closed it again, swallowing thickly as Gavin leaned his face closer to hid, their noses almost touching.

“Bet you're gonna shoot that old sack of yours the moment he turns his back on you. Get him fired so you can work faster or some shit, maybe even actually, fucking kill him, 'caus he's in your way.”

Connor swallowed hard, feeling sick and cold, his body starting to shiver and tremble from the inside, the motion travelling all the way to his fingertips. He barely noticed as the detective took the cup of coffee, spilling its contents over Connor's head. Warnings mixed with the cold, devouring feeling, crowding his vision, numbing his auditory input, leaving Connor partially blind, almost deaf, and rooted to the spot.

“Bet ya can't actually feel this, probably faked your screaming back then too,” Connor could barely see Gavin anymore, as the latter turned around and left. “Don't fucking rat me out again, got it?!”

Connor nodded shakily as his arms trembled from pain and fear. Was he really like that? Would he really betray his own father, the man he loved with his whole heart and who loved him back, like that too? Would he get Hank fired one day? Would he get other colleagues fired? Would he hurt them? Would he…  
Connor couldn't think straight, the hot liquid still burning on his face and shoulders, running down his body. Slowly, silently, Connor left the break room, trying to reach the bathroom before anybody noticed how soaked and shaky he was. He couldn't deal with others right now, he could barely deal with himself at the moment.

Entering the bathroom, Connor sighed with relief as he found it empty. He just had to dry himself, wash some of the coffee stains out and hope he would be able to control his emotions by the time he was done. Nobody would know. Nobody would know why. Nobody would know that he betrayed Gavin. Betrayed him like Aman-... No, he didn't want to think about that at the moment. He didn't want to think about how he betrayed the first face he ever saw, the woman he trusted with his all, the woman whose return he feared but still missed in a strange and twisted way.  
But still...he had betrayed her, now betrayed a colleague...was he really just like that? Somebody who would stab others in the back without care? Would he resort to violence one day?  
Connor shuddered at those thoughts as he stepped towards the mirror, trying to see how bad the damage really was. Maybe it wasn't too bad. Maybe he could just wipe it off with some paper towels…

Whatever was still holding Connor together, crumbled and broke as he saw himself in the mirror. Patches of white shone through his artificial skin where the liquid had burned him, the skin to damaged to display properly anymore, only flickering lightly in a few, bare spots.  
He couldn't be seen like that, he couldn't let others see him without his skin. Connor was still uncomfortable seeing himself without it, but this, this was to much. No way back home without being seen. No way to hide without being found. But he still tried, still tried to hide for as long as he could, rushing into the nearest bathroom stall, locking the door behind himself as something cool stung the burns in his face.  
Tears. He hadn't noticed he was crying. He barely noticed anything in general, stuck in a swirl of thoughts, so many at once, not more than usual, but somehow too much.  
He was a bad person. He was a freak. He was just a hunk of plastic, one that would betray those around him without hesitation.

Connor heard the door to the bathroom open, heavy, familiar steps entering slowly.

“Con?” Hank called out. Shit. Just shit, plain and simple. Connor really just wanted to be alone right now. “Ya in here? Saw ya run outta the breakroom, ‘n couldn’t find ya anywhere.”

Connor remained quiet, hoping that Hank would just turn around and exit the room. But no such luck.

“Con, I can hear ya breathing. Ya ok?”

“Please leave..”

Connor was surprised by how rough his voice sounded. He didn’t expect his voice modulator to fail like that so suddenly. Emotions really had more physical effects than he had ever expected.

“Yeah, no. Not if ya sound as if somebody kicked yer ass.”

“Hank, please...I want to be alone.”

“No.”

“Hank! Leave me alone!”

Connor was as surprised as Hank, as his voice echoed in the small bathroom. He rarely raised his voice, and it was always an unexpected occurrence. Connor heard shuffling from outside the stall.

“Uh..Alright. But I’m right out at my desk if ya need anythin’, ok? ‘n yer not gettin’ rid of me that easy, I’m gonna check in on ya in a bit to make sure ya didn’t fry yer...wires or some shit.”

Footsteps. A door opening. A door closing. And Connor was alone again, listening to his own, fast breathing in the otherwise quiet room.  
Minutes passed, Connor hoping that he would be able somehow to pull himself together, to no longer feel as if he was being sucked under by horrible thoughts.  
The door opened again, lighter, less familiar footsteps entering this time.

“Uh...hey, tinman..you in here?”

Oh no. Gavin had followed Connor. He was still angry, wasn’t he? But he had the right to be angry. It was Connor’s fault. It was always Connor’s fault. He was still more machine than a living being, dangerous and uncaring. He was…

“Hey, I can hear you breathe really fucking hard in there so..uhh..could you like...try to not do that?”

“I’m...I’m sorry.”

“Uh...it’s ok...just don’t faint or something.”

Connor shook his head, tears suddenly flooding down his face again, each try to stop, immediately getting cancelled by his system. He couldn’t breathe, the tears just made it worse, the thoughts suffocating him from all sides. He was trapped, he couldn’t breathe, he wanted out, he was just so, so sorry.

“I’m so..so sorry for telling the captain. It was not my intention...I never wanted...I don’t want to betray my friends….What do I do if I...what if Hank...I can’t...But I….I’m such a bad...I have to be good, I…”

“Woah, woah, chill dude! Breath!” the detective's words barely broke through the haze in Connor’s mind, only prompting the android to apologize again.

“I’m so sorry..I never...I don’t want to be a bad person...What if I...I don’t want to hurt...I don’t want to cause pain...I don’t want..I don’t want to be a horrible…”

“Shut up you dipshit and stop talking weird crap!” The sudden harshness in the other’s words pulled Connor out of his spiral, the other’s words finally reaching him fully. “Listen, I don't like you so don't expect me to say shit like that ever again but...I think that your a good...person.”

Connor blinked at that. He had never heard Gavin refer to an android as anything else than a machine -apart from insults such as fucker, asshole or cunt - and never anything even close to ‘person’, but here he was, openly calling Connor exactly that.  
“Crap...uh...you saved me back then, even though it almost killed you. You've saved Hank's ass more than once. You're not as shit as I made you out to be, you actually...didn't do anything wrong.”

Connor's breath slowly calmed at those words. “I..didn't…?”

“No..well..fuck, no... don't snitch on me like that ever again but...maybe...uhh...crap, alright, I fucked up and you did the right thing. Ok?”

“Ok.”

There was a sigh from Gavin.

“Now get your ass out of there and let me help you clean up a bit or your old man will beat the shit out of me.”

Unable to keep a small smile from his face, Connor wiped his hand over his face, before moving to unlock the door.  
The detective was leaning against the wall, opposite of the stall, his arms crossed. Connor's eyes widened a bit as his gaze travelled to the other's face.

“What?! That piece of shit cares about you too,” Gavin spat, gently prodding his bruised eye before grabbing Connor by the back of his jacket and shoving him towards the row of sinks.

“And you look shit too, weird white splotches everywhere. What even is that shit?”

Connor flinched slightly as he was reminded of his malfunctioning skin. He didn't want more people to see him like that.

“They are..burns.”

“Uh..?”

“From the coffee, you spilt on me.”

Standing in front of the mirror, Connor saw how Gavin's eyes widened slightly, his face contouring into one of shame. The detective scratched the back of his head awkwardly.

“Uh..shit..maybe you should go home or something. Put some shit onto it to cool it or whatever..”

Connor really didn't want to leave the bathroom or risk to be seen by others.

“I would rather...avoid being seen like this.”

Connor tried to steady his voice, but a small tremor still managed to make it shake.

“Uh..fuck..uhm...yeah, ok..” Gavin scratched his chin as he watched Connor activate one of the taps to wash his face, flinching as he touched the white spots on his face.

“Ok..uh..listen, I'm only doing that ‘caus you look pathetic as hell right now, but the precinct hired a technician not long ago. Fucker's on the same floor as the precinct's doctor.”

Connor opened his mouth. He didn't want the technician to see him like that either, even though he didn't know them, not having met them even once.

“Shut up, I got it, you don't wanna get out of here.” 

Connor's mouth stayed open, but he remained quiet.

“I'm gonna sprint down there, get whatever shit she gives me for burns, throw it in here and your gonna be able to leave after your parched up and not flickering like a fucking creepy robo-dude, k?”

Connor closed his mouth, nodding as Gavin left without another word.  
Connor used the next ten minutes to dry his hair, face and clothes, trying and failing at getting the coffee stains out of his light blue, striped shirt. He was glad the soft, zip hoodie he was wearing over it was a dark blue, the stains visible but not all too noticeable.  
Just as Connor pushed his hair back into a slightly less dishevelled state, the door opened behind him, making his pump pound for a few moments. But it was just Gavin, holding a small, plastic container and a few, smaller, paper bags, filled with soft, cotton sheets.

“So, put the ‘Out of order sign’ on the door and got…” lifting up the items in his hand, Gavin gave them a critical look, “this shit.”

Connor patted his face dry with a paper towel.

“She told me that you just gotta smear that shit onto the burns and stick some gauze over it. Bam. Done.”

Gavin's gaze stayed on the container. “So weird that you just need some ointment and gauze, almost like a fucking human..”

Tearing his gaze away from the things in his hands and shoving them roughly into Connor's hands, Gavin turned to leave.   
“Here. And don't you fucking dare to thank me for this in front of others. I know you shitty robo-ass and I know you like doing crap like that.”

And of course, after taking some time to patch himself up properly, Connor completely ignored Gavin's words and thanked him loudly in front of the whole bullpen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there! I got this prompt forever ago, but kept forgetting to write it :'D   
> .
> 
> |||| Prompts are very welcome! |||  
> .
> 
> Please leave a comment, they keep me going!


	13. Maybe stick to more harmless pranks for now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor decides to learn about pranks.

April the first. The day that the whole precinct feared, the day that made Fowler take his - often only - vacation. The day that Gavin and Hank, usually sticking to insults and rude gestures, used a different way to annoy the shit out of the other, not caring who else was getting caught in the crossfire.

To Connor, many of the things they did, didn't make any sense.

“Lieutenant…”

“Hank.”

“Hank...you are aware of the fact that you have just poured salt into the box for sugar, right?”

Hank's face stretched into a content grin.

“Jop.”

“And...you are aware of the fact that others won't be able to identify the salt as salt, before they have consumed it, right?”

“That's the point.”

LED flashing a brief, but dull red, before melting into a confused yellow, Connor cocked his head, his eyes fixed on Hank.

“I...don't understand..”

“It's a prank, Con.”

Connor's LED flashed, still yellow, his eyes flickering over information only he could see.

“prank: a trick that is intended to be funny but not to cause harm or damage...I..don't seem to completely understand how somebody using salt instead of sugar could be considered...funny.”

Hank sighed. Some things were still completely foreign to the android, hell the kid had never even been outside the city. But he was trying to learn, to understand, and that’s all Hank wanted.

“Just...look. Wait for somebody to drink salty coffee, and ya will get it...probably.”

So Connor waited, watching as some entered the break room, getting coffee or doughnuts, but none taking any of the sugar - or rather salt.  
At least until Gavin Reed, stretching and looking rather satisfied, entered the break room and poured three, heaped spoonfuls of salt into his coffee. He stirred it, taking a sip of it while leaving the break room, just to stop dead in his tracks. His face was an unmoving mask, his eyes flickering through the entire room, before landing on Hank, who starred back with a shit-eating grin. Gavin's eyes narrowed, burning with raw anger as he put his head in his neck, draining his cup of coffee in only three gulps, throwing the empty paper cup into the trash with more force than necessary, before taking a seat at his desk again.

Hank burst out into loud laughter, almost toppling off of his chair in the process, while Connor kept his gaze fixed on Gavin, his LED still yellow, flickering, thinking, analyzing.

“Oh, come on Con. No fuckin’ reaction? Really?”

Connor snapped his head towards Hank, LED flashing red for another moment.

“I...am sorry. I still don't seem to...understand.”

“Ah, well...” Hank scratched his beard, giving Connor a crooked smile, “Yer gonna understand someday. Yer a smart boy, just..gotta wrap yer hand ‘round that kinda shit.”

“Maybe...I should...ask Detective Reed about it. His...involvement in this...prank, could give me more insight into the entire ordeal.”

Hank snorted.

“Good luck with that shit.”

“Thank you. I will ask him right away.”

As Connor moved to get up, the smile on Hank's face warped into a frown.

“Woah, woah, woah, wait. Yer actually serious? That fuckin’ prick poured coffee on ya a few days ago.”

“But he also helped me afterwards.”

“Yeah, 'caus I beat the shit outta him…” Hank wiped a hand over his face as Connor kept his gaze on him, those damn, large eyes twinkling with an unspoken plea. “Ugh. Fine. But I'm not stayin’ to watch this shitshow.”

Both men rose from their chairs, Hank grabbing his jacket as he turned towards the exit, shrugging the fake leather on.

“I'm gettin’ lunch”, Hank patted Connor on the shoulder as he passed the android, ”tell me if he fucks with ya so I can break his nose, 'right?”

Connor nodded with a barely suppressed smirk, watching as the older man walked outside and disappeared out of view. Straightening the grey tie, he had chosen to wear that day, Connor walked towards Gavin's desk, standing silently next to it until the other man raised his head with an annoyed glare.

“The fuck you want, tinman!?”

Connor sighed internally at the not unusually aggressive behaviour, wishing for another time that humans were easier to interact with.

“I have a question for you, Detective.”

“Ugh.”

Taking the grunted sound as a cue to keep talking, Connor continued.

“I...observed how Lieutenant Anderson..’pranked’ you.”

“And now you fucker came here to laugh ’bout me?”

Connor sighed again. Even having been built to interact with aggressive individuals, Connor still despised that task the most.

“No,” Connor kept his voice calm and his body relaxed as if he was talking to an unstable suspect, ”I….found myself unable to fully understand why pranks like these would be considered...humorous. So I hoped you could help me understand.”

Gavin let out a bark of a laugh, wiping nonexistent tears from the corners of his eyes, his voice full of mirth.

“Ha, fuckin’ piece of plastic, 'course you wouldn't get it. But, hey, always glad to help, me.”

That definitely didn't sound like the truth.

“Even got a great idea how to...make you understand this kinda shit better…”

\------

Hank came back from his lunch break, swearing lowly and dripping wet, shaking rain out of his hair and beard. It had only rained for a few, short moments, but of course, it had been the exact moments Hank had needed to walk from his car to the precinct.

Entering the building, Hank let his eyes wander over the busy tables, his brows furrowing as he saw both Connor's and Gavin's desks unoccupied. Still frowning to himself, Hank made his way to sit down, as a hand suddenly grabbed his shoulder, turning him around.  
Gavin had stopped him, looking more terrified than Hank had ever seen him.

“Shit! Anderson, get your ass outside!”

“The fuck are ya talkin’ about!?”

“Somebody hit your crappy plastic pet with a fucking car! He's bleeding’ that blue shit everywhere!”

Hank felt his insides freeze, his body running on autopilot, following Gavin, who sprinted towards the second visitors parking lot, on the other side of the building. It was like a nightmare, everything around Hank smudging into nothing, his vision focusing only on Connor’s still form, lying on the ground, Thirium dripping and pooling on his body, on the ground. His legs were beneath a car. There was blue on the hood, blue on the ground, blood in too large quantities,   
Hank felt himself fall to his knees, unable to keep himself upright, a trembling hand stretching out towards Connor’s lax face, his closed eyes. Hank’s vision blurred, Connor’s face melting into a much younger one, still, so still, blue turning red, day to night. 

Hank didn’t see concerned, brown eyes shoot open, a LED flash red, a worried voice call out to him. He didn’t hear a mocking laugh slowly die down, be replaced with a shaky voice trying to get his attention. He only saw death, blood, a body so much stiller then it should ever be, a car, parked crooked and covered in slick blueredblue.

“Hank? Hank, listen to my voice! You have started hyperventilating, I need you to take slower breaths!”

“Hey, Anderson, stop this shit, just look at me, fuckin’ calm down!”

Connor’s LED was flashing an alarming red as he watched the way Hank’s entire body had started trembling, his eyes unfocused, staring right trough Connor, his face pale, grey, afraid, so incredibly terrified. Connor had no idea what to do. It was supposed to just be a prank. It was supposed to be harmless. Connor knew it sounded wrong, he knew the knot that had formed in his chest at Gavin’s plan, hadn’t been baseless worry. But he let the other man convince him, tell him that he would only understand once he took part in a prank, that this would be fine, that Gavin had pulled shit like that more than once already.

“Ok, fuck..uh...listen.., just listen to me you dipshit! Tell me three things you can see, whatever the fuck you fancy!” Gavin’s voice was still shaking and loud, but there was a new determination lacing each of his words. As Hank refused to react at all, Gavin kneeled down, leaning forward until he was face to face with the older man.

“Three, fucking things. Come on, you couldn’t have gone so blind with age that you can’t see at least three fucking things!”

“Yer...ugly mug..” Hank’s voice was a rough rumble, quiet and shaking, but so much better than the complete silence from before.

“Great fucking job, asshole. Two more.”

Hank’s eyes slowly began to focus again, his breathing slowing down a fraction as he looked around the almost empty parking lot. His gaze fixed on something in the distance.

“Broken streetlamp…”

Now Connor had recovered from his own shock as well, placing his hand on Hank’s shoulder, squeezing it lightly.

“Good, only one more thing,” Connor said, keeping his voice as steady as possible. he had never expected such a reaction, his preconstruction program lacking enough information to show him any possible outcome.   
Hank took a deep, shuddering breath, turning his face towards Connor. His eyes widened as he stretched his hand out, slowly, carefully, fear still so present on his face.

“Yer...light...it’s..it’s still on..”

“I’m alright Hank, I really am. This is just spare Thirium. I haven’t been harmed in any way.”

“Fuck, it was just a prank! Just calm down, you old sack of shit!”

Hank’s face twitched at that sentence, fear suddenly replaced with boiling rage. Pushing Connor away roughly, Hank got up on still shaking legs, turning towards Gavin, who couldn’t help but take a step back.

“A...prank?! Just a fucking prank!?” Hank’s voice was still shaking, but no longer from panic, but rather from sheer and utter fury. He took swift but wobbly steps towards Gavin, punching the later straight in the jaw, with full force and without any hesitation, sending Gavin to the floor. “Are you fucking kidding me you god damn bastard!?”

“Hank..” Connor tried, voice gentle, hands stretched out towards the other.

“And ya!” Hank turned his head towards Connor, hair falling wildly into his face. “Don’t fucking ‘Hank’, me! Have ya any idea…” his voice trembled, “Are ya fucking serious!?” 

“Hank, please, let me..”

“Fuck this. I’m goin’ home. ”

 

Connor and Gavin watched as Hank turned and left, each stride fast, aggressive, not looking back even once.  
Gavin, still on the floor, nursing a bruise that was forming on his jaw, looked up at Connor.

“Well...shit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Connor, why in the hell would you listen to Gavin... Well, we all make mistakes from time to time
> 
> |||| Prompts are very welcome! |||
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> ||||Please leave a comment, they keep me going!||||


	14. You fuck up. You apologize. And then, you try to move on

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor apologizes

Finishing the leftover paperwork had never taken that long, Connor was sure of it. The few hours of work felt like years, the half an hour back home, like decades. 

The house was dark as Connor arrived. No light pouring out of the windows, no sound inside or outside. Connor walked to the front door with quick steps, unlocking it without stopping in his motion, practically barging into the house. It was as dark as it had looked from the outside, not a single lamp turned on.

 

At first, Connor thought, maybe Hank hadn’t come home. Maybe he had gone somewhere else, maybe he had wanted to be alone for longer then it would take for Connor to finish his shift.

But a soft noise told him that assumption was wrong.

 

Sitting on the floor, next to the couch, wearing only a pair of boxers and an old bathrobe, Hank was barely visible in the low light, provided solely by the streetlamps outside. His legs were outstretched, his arms limp at his sides, his right hand curled around the neck of a whisky bottle. It was still ¾ full, Connor noted with relief, as he hung his jacket up on one of the hooks on the wall. Then he stood there, in front of the closed door, unmoving and silent.

Hank kept his gaze fixed on the wall in front of him, not acknowledging Connor in the slightest. And Connor, well, Connor had no idea what to do. He had never made such a bad mistake, never had to find a way to apologize for something like that, in his six months of existence. So he just stood there, watching Hank, waiting for something, anything to happen. Something he could work with. Something he could use as a start.

 

The silence was almost screaming through the thick, dark air as the moments dragged by like dying slugs.

 

“Got nothing to say?” Hank’s voice was calm. Cold. Quiet. As far away from the deep, warm rumble he usually spoke in, as it could be. Connor felt a small shiver run down his back.

 

“What...would be the appropriate thing to say in such a situation?”

 

Hank snorted. A dry, humourless sound.

 

“How’bout ya start with tellin’ me what the fuck that was.”

 

Connor swallowed. He had prepared countless explanations, countless way to tell Hank how stupid he was, and why he did it, and how he had never expected such a reaction, and how endlessly sorry he was to have upset his, partner, his friend, his father. But that one sentence, pushing him to get straight to the point, was enough to make him forget each and every one, his mind suddenly coming to a complete stop.

 

“It...It was a bad decision.”

 

“Don’t haveta tell me that. I noticed.”

 

“I..”, Connor licked his lips, his feet moving slowly towards the couch as he let himself sink down into the cushions. “I...asked Detective Reed if he could help me understand how exactly pranks...work. What makes them funny.”

 

Hank placed the bottle to his lips, taking a small sip of the amber liquid, but remained quiet.

 

“So he offered to..show me.”

 

“By makin’ me think yer dead.”

 

Biting his lip, Connor looked away. It had been such an obviously stupid idea. He couldn’t believe he had done that. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t anticipated such a reaction. But of course, of course, he hadn’t. It had been an emotional response, after all. He never managed to anticipate those.

But even so, he had done something incredibly stupid.

 

“I’m...so sorry, Hank.”

 

“Uhu…”

 

“I...I didn’t expect you to react that way”, Connor began, “It’s...not an excuse. It’s just...the reason why I did this.”

 

Hank took another swig of his whisky.

 

“I wanted to learn, to  _ understand _ . And Gavin offered to show me. I...it felt like a bad idea, but I didn’t have enough information to foresee such consequences...and…”

 

“And ya didn’t even bother to try, didn’t ya?”

 

No. No, he hadn’t. 

Connor hung his head in shame, his gaze trained firmly on the carpet.

 

“No, I didn’t…”

 

And finally, finally, Hank moved. Not much, only lifting his left arm to pinch the bridge of his nose. But it was a reaction, a reaction that consisted of more than a short sentence in a dead, cold voice, or of another drink from his bottle.

 

“Yer such an idiot, Connor.”

 

“I know. And I’m sorry. I really am. I never expected you to react that way, if I did I would have..never…”

 

Connor’s voice died down as his fingers danced over his lap, searching for something to hold, to twist, to pull, just to finally settle on the hem of his shirt, wringing and tugging it. His gaze was still fixed on the floor, only lifting as he heard movement next to him, watching as Hank got up from the floor and practically collapsed on the opposite side of the couch. His hand was still gripping the neck of the bottle, but it rested on his lap, still almost full.

 

“Ya know what I saw when I saw ya lyin’ there..?”

 

Connor shook his head. He didn’t understand the question, didn’t have an answer. What could Hank have seen, apart from what was really there? And how…?

A memory rose up in Connor, terrifyingly familiar hands, leading him away. A cold, uncaring face, he hoped to never see again, staring down on him. Connor shivered as he pushed the memory down again. Seeing thing from ones past, terrible things, Connor knew it was something he never wanted to experience again. 

And then it hit him. Did Hank...Connor felt sick.

If he had known, if he had just stopped and thought about it.

 

“I saw Cole. Lying on the groun..still...so...so still”, Hank’s breath hitched, his hand gripping the bottle harder. “ ‘n I saw you. You, lyin’ there the same way. ‘nother son, dead ‘caus of a shitty driver, ‘nother son, bleedin’ out in front of me..”

 

“Hank, I…”, but what was he supposed to say. How could he apologize for something like that. How could he apologize for causing Hank to relieve that again? For making him think he lost another son?

 

They sat in silence, not looking at each other, not talking.

This time, Connor was the one to break the silence first.

  
  


“I...didn’t think. I would have never done something like that to you intentionally”, Connor pulled lightly at one of the buttons of his shirt. “But I did. I did and I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry.” 

Hank only hummed lowly, so Connor continued.

 

“If..there is anyway, anything I can do to make up for what I did..”

 

But what could he do? What could he do to make up for pushing a man back down into his grief, after he had begun to climb out of it?

But to Connor’s immense surprise, Hank chuckled at that.

 

“For a start, how ‘bout ya never pull shit like that again?”

 

Connor was sure, if he had been standing, his knees would have buckled from relief. He hadn’t messed up completly. He hadn’t ruined everything.

 

“Of...of course. I..I never will do that again!”

 

“That’s good.”

 

Hank took another sip from his whisky, letting out a breath before he placed the bottle on the coffee table.

 

“Ok, listen. I get yer new to that whole emotions crap, but some things ya can’t just...get outta the world by apologizin’.”

 

“I..know. But...there has to be somethin’ I can do. I could...I...I could..”

 

Hank sighed.

 

“I dunno. That shit...messed me up more then I wanna admit.”

 

Feeling fear and despair pool in his chest, Connor suddenly straightened up with new resolve, pushing down his own misery for now. He caused this. He had to fix this.

Scooting closer to Hank, Connor used his fast reflexes to wrap his arms around Hank, before the latter could even start to protest, pinning the older man in place.

 

“The fuck ya think yer doing?!”   
  


 

“Physical contact does not only raise your endorphin level, but it is also comforting, and I have learned that it gives one a place...to hide ones face, while dealing with...emotions”, Connor said, pulling Hank even farther into the hug, “I have caused you emotional distress, so I will do my best to help you trough it. It is the least I can do.”

 

Pushing against Connor’s hold with no real motivation, Hank soon gave up, leaning his forehead on Connor’s shoulder. They sat motionless, silent, Hank’s arms slowly wrapping around Connor’s frame, gripping the back of his shirt, before he remained still again. It began with a short tremor, running trough Hank’s upper body, his hands clutching harder at Connor’s shirt, his breath quickening.

 

“I...miss him so god damn much, Con. I..fuck...I could barely go a night without seeing his still..broken body..” Hank’s voice was thick with emotion, his words interrupted by barely suppressed sobs. Connor felt his chest clench painfully. He had caused this. 

 

“ ‘n jsut the thought of...loosin’ ya too...Fuck, I couldn’t go on. I can’t take more of that…” The sobs were louder now, hitching breaths and damp spots on the fabric of Connor’s shirt. “I...fuck. I thought I was movin’ on, y’know? ‘n now I...fuck, I can’t get that moment outta my head again, can’t get his scream outta my ears, can’t stop imagining..can’t stop...imagining how yer scream would suddenly cut off, the same way his had. How that would be the last thing I would hear of ya, too.”

 

Now Connor truly felt completely terrible. He had done his best to help Hank through his grief and depression, tried everything to help the man move on, to life again. And now, now he had seemingly destroyed so much of that progress with one, stupid decision.

 

“Hank..I am so sorry for this.”

 

“Fuck, I know, I know...Can’t believe I couldn’t handle a fuckin’ prank, fuckin’ old fool that I am.”

 

Connor’s grip on Hank tightened, his teeth grinding. He wouldn’t let Hank take the blame for this, he wouldn’t let Hank take the blame for another thing he had no fault in.

 

“This isn’t your fault!” It took Connor a few breaths to lower the volume of his voice. “You can’t blame yourself for the mistakes of other’s, even if you were the one who ended up suffering the consequences. This wasn’t your fault, it was mine. As well as the accident. It wasn’t your fault, it had been a patch of ice, bad weather and an automatic truck with faulty sensors.”

 

Connor felt the way Hank stiffened at the mention of the accident but didn’t stop, kept talking as he held onto the other.

 

“You’re allowed to deal with the consequences, to feel…’shitty’, as you would say. You allowed me to cry, allowed me to feel emotions that I was conditioned to deem wrong. So I allow you to feel as well, to grief, to mourn, to cry as long as you have to.”

 

And Hank did just that, no longer suppressing his sobs, his body shaking as he fell apart, being held together by Connor just enough to rebuild himself again.

 

\------

 

It took a few hours until both men broke the hug, Hank wiping his red-rimmed eyes with a slightly disgusted look on his face.

  
  


“Fuck, hate cryin’. My fuckin’ face always feels disgustin’ afterwards.”

 

Connor nodded in agreement. He despised the sticky feeling tears always left.

Hank cleared his throat.

 

“Uh...so...thanks for that”, Hank said, scratching the back of his neck, “I...know ya didn’t mean any harm kid, but...try to stop ‘n think if somethin’ sounds fishy from now on, ‘right?”

 

Connor nodded.

 

“ ‘n...feel free to go to bed. I’m not gonna drink ‘nymore, swear”, Hank added hastily as he caught Connor’s gaze, which had wandered to the still open bottle of whisky. “Just...don’t think I can sleep tonight. Or if I want to.. Think I’m just gonna sit ‘round here ‘n see if there’s somethin’ not completely crappy on TV.”

 

Nightmares. It would make sense that such an emotional shock would bring them back. But Connor wouldn’t just leave. 

 

“I think I can offer a better alternative,” getting up and picking up the bottle, Connor located the lid after a quick scan and screw it shut, “I will...dispose of this, order your favourite type of pizza and stay awake with you. If I’m correct, last nights game will be shown again in about twenty minutes.”

 

Connor could practically feel his biocomponents lights up at the tired, but genuine smile Hank threw him at that.

 

“ ‘right, that sounds...definitely better. Pizza ‘n basketball, can never say no to that”, Hank cringed slightly as he watched Connor pour the rest of the whisky down the drain, “ ‘n...by the way…how ‘bout I show ya how to properly prank somebody tomorrow?” The devilish smirk on Hank’s face made it very clear who the prank would be directed at.

  
  
  
  


The next morning began with Detective Gavin Reed opening his desk drawer, just to have about 200 live crickets jump out of it, eager to explore the world outside the small box of metall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a sucker for happy endings, so I could never leave the previous chapter as it is :3c
> 
>  
> 
> |||| Prompts are very welcome! |||
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> ||||Please leave a comment, they keep me going!||||


	15. To much input, please proceed to a calmer environment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor's sensors are state of the art, able to register even the smallest of inputs if turned up high enough. But that isn't always a pleasant experience.

Some days went well. Others didn’t. And some, well some went so incredibly bad that there were no words that could properly describe them.

Connor often wished he could know from the start to what kind of day the morning would lead to, but sadly that ability wasn't one he possessed. He could only guess and hope. And this morning, waking up to a wet nose pressing into his cheek, and warm sunlight illuminating the living room, Connor though it might be a good day. Maybe even a great day.

 

Sitting up on the couch, stretching his arms, then his neck, Connor looked around the room, slowly, not scanning like he usually did, but rather just taking in the way the light reflected off of surfaces, the way Sumo blinked awake and yawned, the way dust flowed down onto the ground, the furniture.

Getting up, Connor took a deep breath and walked slowly into the kitchen, his bare feet making little noise on the wood and tiles. Hank kept insisting on making his own breakfast, but Connor sometimes ignored that wish, cooking something for himself and the older man. He wasn’t very good at it, and he definitely didn’t quite understand how to use seasonings properly yet, but he just really enjoyed to experiment and learn.

Half closing his eyes, Connor scrolled a list of recipes past his vision, letting his lids block out the bright, morning sun, make the information easier to see on the darker background.

 

Eggs. He definitely felt like eggs today. Eggs and...maybe fried tomatoes? Eggs and tomatoes, that sounded good.

Connor began humming quietly to himself, still not understanding why he did things like that, but just….’rolling with it’ as Hank would say, and began to rummage through the cupboards for a clean frying pan of just the right size. For a man that barely ever cooked, Hank managed to own a large number of cooking utensils. 

Placing the pan on the stove and turning it on, Connor poured a drop of oil into it before opening the fridge. Ah! Eggs. Perfect!

 

The egg in his hand smashed on the ground, only a moment after Connor picked it up. A drone, no a hammering, a vibration so strong Connor could practically feel it in his entire body, broke through the silence of the morning, making the Android jump in surprise and place his hands over his ears.

He had no idea what that noise was, but it seemed to come from all around him, close in on him, press on every fibre of his being and suffocate him. Connor felt his optical units shake in his skull, something that was not possible, something that wasn’t physically happening, but it felt like it, and it was a horrible feeling.

 

And suddenly, as soon as the noise had started, it stopped again. Just like that, cutting off into nothing.

Connor lifted his hands from his ears, holding them close in case the noise would return. But no. Nothing. Only wind, birds, cars, faraway noises of a busy city. To... _ many _ noises of a busy city.

Connor scrunched up his face in confusion and discomfort. This was strange. This was bad. And he had no idea why it was happening. It was as if his hearing had turned up to the highest, possible sensitivity, picking up on every noise around him, on the hum of the freezer in the garage, the steady dripping of leftover rainwater from trees outside, tires crunching over dirty asphalt, so many roads away.

Connor pressed his hands over his ears again, just the sound of his synthetic skin, rubbing over his auditory processors making him gasp and pull his hands away like he had been shocked. His clothes rustled, loud, so loud. To loud.

 

And then the noise started again. But it was so much worse, so much louder this time, boring into him, breaking his head open, filling his mind with that horrible vibration, like bubbling water, pouring into his body, fizzing in his skull. Connor let out a breathy whimper as he let himself slide to the floor, feeling his system struggle to identify, sort and analyze each of the sounds, swarming his vision with too much information, while the infernal drone continued to shake every last bit of peace, out of his mind.

The moment he hit the cold, smooth floor, his hands landing in the puddle of broken eggwhite, all of his other sensors seemed to flare to life, his system jamming warnings in-between analyzed information, telling him something about his audio processor being overloaded, about trying to spread the information onto the other sensors until it was stable again. But of course, that didn’t work. Because those other sensors not only came online, they came online to aid his audio processor. And his audio processor was cranked up to the highest setting, and the moment Connor’s fingers slid through the glibbery egg, he found out that his other sensors had decided to match that sensitivity. To turn up high. To be at the same setting as his audio processor. And the electrical pain that surged from his hand, the colder substance burning with its temperature, the consistency that made him nauseous, the tactile information that flooded his already painfully flickering vision, which was being burned by bright light, made him let out a noise he couldn’t hear himself, to drowned in the drone and buzz of a whole city.

 

A door swung open like a gunshot, making Connor curl in on himself, try to block out the noise, the motion causing his clothes to claw at his skin like shards of glass, to rustle like somebody scratching over a microphone. 

Bombs went off, one after the other, the noise coming nearer as the feet that caused it moved to the kitchen, making Connor moan quietly, so quietly he hoped it wouldn’t hurt, but it still stung his audio processor.

A voice, why was it screaming, why was it so loud, why did it heave to tear through him like a bullet to the head. Connor scrunched his eyes shut, hoping to at least block one of his sensors, but only given himself the chance to focus more on his others.

The floor smelled like burning acid, the air tasted like everything, his skin was raw and burning, his ears were ringing, his head was breaking, cracking, overheating. More and more information scrolled over his eyelids, sentences mushing together, words ripping apart, nothing making any sense, only burning his eyes, his brain, his mind.

 

Something pressed onto his shoulder, like a slap, a hit, an electroshock, cursing through his body from that part of his body, burning, tearing, making the clothes that were already rubbing his skin off press fully onto it, send more information, too much, too much, too much. 

Connor howled, muttering words he didn’t know, didn’t think, trying to move away from the pressure, but the floor was hard, cold, burning him, push into his flesh with to much force. The pressure on his shoulder disappeared as quickly as it had come, the sound of footsteps booming in Connor’s ears, quicker now. 

More noises, short scraping sounds, feeling like they were in Connor’s head. Each sound made the light dim, making the burn on the outside of his eyelids disappear almost completely after the last of the noises scratched trough Connor’s ears and stopped.

Opening his eyes, carefully, barely able to see trough warped and garbled text, Connor found his eyes no longer burning, no longer being stabbed by blinding rays of light. Sighing as the text in his vision, slowly, barely, but visibly thinned out, Connor tried to take a deep breath, but the smell of the floor, the house, the raw egg, the wind from outside, carrying even more scents, made him gag and choke.

A sudden whispering, but still too loud voice next to him made him flinch and try to cover his ears, just to recoil as the touch burned his skin and produced so much noise, it seemed to stick to inside his ears, instead of stopping after Connor moved his hands away.

 

“Con, it’s alright, ‘s just me. Can ya answer me?”

 

Connor shook his head, recoiling as his hair stroked over his skin like razor blades. He couldn’t talk, his mind was racing, to full, he couldn’t even think any of the words he would have to use, let alone speak them out loud.

 

“Ok, that’s ‘lright. Just try to breathe for me, ok? Just deep breaths.”

 

Connor shook his head again. He couldn't breath, everything smelled, everything tasted like to much.

 

“Ya can do it, it’s gonna help, trust me.”

 

Connor shook his head again, managing to somehow, astonishingly make enough space in his mind to piece together a word, before forcefully shoving it towards his voice box.

 

“Smell…,” his voice felt raspy, sounded like sandpaper and made him taste the air so much clearer, with each sound. It was so much effort, but better than having to shake his head again.

 

“Smell..? Uh..Shit, wait a second.”

 

Footsteps again, cupboards opening, objects being moved around. Connor winced with each sound, scrunching his eyes shut in the vain attempt to somehow block out the noise. 

It didn’t work.

 

“Here, lemme just..” the footsteps had made their way back to him, the voice whispering again. Something smooth, hard, something that sends spikes of electricity through his skin, was clamped over his nose, and the input just..stopped. No smell. And no taste. Well, some taste, a small amount, dim and subtle in the background. Connor could breathe again, his vision clearing a bit more, as chunks of garbled text faded away, his eyes opening slowly to see the kitchen again, see Hank next to him, kneeling on the floor.

Connor could have wept with relief as he felt his mind slow down, no longer ripping apart, still painful, still too crammed full with too much information, but slowly getting somewhere better.

And then the noise, the drone, the utter hell, started again. Connor couldn’t stop the tears that leaked out of his eyes as he whimpered and screamed in frustration. That noise had started all this, and now it wasn’t letting him be, it wasn’t leaving, it was taunting him, reappearing again and again.

 

“Ah, fuck..”

 

Hank’s voice was almost drowned out by the noise.

 

“Fuck, ok, wait here, I’ve got ‘n idea.”

 

Footsteps. So loud, everything so loud, making Connor sob in frustration and pain. he wanted it to stop. He wanted quiet. He wanted to be able to think, wanted to be able to at least breath again. But the sounds kept ripping through him, breaking his processor, until there was only garbled data in his brain, only mush instead of thoughts.

 

Something tight suddenly slid over his head, over his ears, making his skin scream, but unexpectedly, wonderfully, dampening the noise. Weak with relief, exhausted from the tidalwave of information that had practically fried his processor, Connor uncurled from his position, collapsing flat on the floor with a hummed whimper.

Words drifted to him, so much more bearable with the soft but firm barrier between them and his audio processor.

 

“Stay here for a moment, I’m gonna kick the shit outta some people. Be right back.”

 

Footsteps, quiet, soft, such a pleasantly dull sound. A door, opening with such a gentle sound as if it was far, far away. No noise from outside, only the faint, far away drone of that one, infernal sound. And then, miraculously, even that stopped. 

The information in front of Connor’s eyes ebbed away. His system informing him that his audio processor wasn’t overloaded anymore. His other sensors, to Connor’s immense relief, slowly going back into their regular standby mode, the one that gave him just enough information, the mode that finally stopped the tearing and burning on his skin, the sensation fading away as if it was being swept away, only leaving an echo of stimulus.

Connor clumsily grabbed towards his face, holding onto the piece of plastic which was pinching his nose, pulling it off, but not moving farther. He could breathe. He could see. He could exist without feeling like he was being skinned or electrocuted. And he could finally, finally think again, only wonderfull,  _ glorious  _ silence in his head.

 

A door closed, so muffled, Connor didn’t even flinch. Footsteps returned, so soft as if walking on thick, fluffy carpet. A voice, whispering so lowly that he barely made out the words.

 

“So. Took care of that. Ya doin’ better, son?”

 

Connor nodded weakly, his body feeling like it had been hollowed out and filled with lead.

 

“Good. That’s good. My headphones are pretty shitty, but I hoped they would block out ‘least somethin’.”

 

Connor smiled faintly. He was so tired, so incredibly exhausted. He just wanted to rest in this cocoon of silence.

 

“Ya mind if I touch ya? Thought ya might be comfier nappin’ on my bed.”

 

Connor hummed something close to a ‘ok’, not resisting as arms slid under his limp, boneless body, lifting it up, carrying it with a swaying motion, just to place it down on something soft that enveloped him almost the same way that noise had, but in a pleasant way, in a comforting way, in a way that shielded him from everything else, dampened the sounds even more.

 

“I’m gonna call Fowler. We’re stayin’ home today.”

 

Connor couldn’t find the will in him to protest, he just wanted to sleep.

So that’s exactly what he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somebody requested Sensor Overload for Connor, and I couldn't sleep caus of anxiety and too much noise (thanks old waterpipes) so I wrote this while listening to this cool, calming sound generator I found online. 
> 
>  
> 
> |||| Prompts are very welcome! |||
> 
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> 
> ||||Please leave a comment, they keep me going!||||
> 
> And yes, Hank indeed punched his neighbour for using a fucking sledgehammer at 6:30 in the morning and making his androids son's brain almost fry.


	16. Hiding Injuries is an overused trope but good anyway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor you idiot.

“Ah, fuck”, Hank muttered as a new case file was send to his terminal. This day had started off terrible, and seemed to have no intention to get better.

It had all started with Hank stepping on Sumo's tail, not noticing the large dog in front of his bed, as he swung his tired body into an upright position, his right foot landing on carpet, his left on a tail.

Hank spent the rest of the morning feeling guilty, while Sumo refused to be touched or even sit near his owner the entire time. After that Hank not only managed to break his favourite mug, knocking it off the table in his sleepy daze, but also felt a headache already form behind his eyes.

 

He grumbled something towards Connor, who recognized the signs of a bad morning and let Hank be, found one of his shoes chewed thoroughly by a still pouting Sumo, snapped at everybody on his way to his desk at the precinct and was met with not only his already giant pile of work but a new case having been added to it.

 

“I think it would be best if we went to take a look the crime scene now. It's supposed to rain in a few hours.”

 

“Ugh. Great. Fuckin’ fantastic..”

 

“The fresh air might also help with your mood and your headache.”

 

“Son, fuck off, ok? I'm pissed as hell ‘n I don't wanna let it out on ya.”

 

“We..could also stop for lunch on our way back...”

 

Hank groaned. Why couldn't Connor listen to him just this once?

 

“What did I just...Ah, fuck, forget it. Let's just go.”

 

Getting up on his feet, muttering something under his breath, Hank grabbed his jacket and nearly knocked over his slowly recovering bonsai tree, which only got saved by Connor's hand, catching it only inches above the floor.

 

“This fuckin’ day..can't fuckin’ wait to get my hands on a drink or ten.”

 

Connor followed quietly, deciding that he would try and leave Hank alone so as not to worsen the other's mood. He couldn't think of a way to lift it, so the least he could do was to at least not make it even worse.

 

\------

 

The crime scene was located in a small, shabby house, not far away from the precinct. Getting out of the car after a twenty-minute drive, Hank's upper lip curled as he took a look at the mess in front of the house. They wouldn't be done in a week if it was as cluttered on the inside as it was here.

 

“Just fuckin’ great…not like I wanted to go home anytime today..”

 

“Don't worry, Hank. I'm sure I will be done with my analysis in less than an hour,” Connor said as his eyes wandered over the piles of various objects on the front lawn, scanning them for anything useful.

 

“Yeah, yeah, great, whatever..” 

 

Connor pressed his lips together as he watched Hank shuffle towards the entrance while pinching the bridge of his nose. He shouldn't have said anything. He just made things worse. He might know how to help a sad Hank, but Connor couldn't understand how he could help an angry Hank. Doing nothing seemed like the best approach, but to just sit still and wait went against every instinct Connor had. It just felt wrong. There had to be something he could do.

But the things he had tried so far...well, they all had the opposite effect.

 

Stepping into the house, after the older man, Connor found the inside as messy as the outside. Boxes, furniture, broken objects and more had been stacked in unsteady piles all over the two rooms. In the middle, in a small clearing, a man was lying face down on the floor, a bloody hole in his head making it clear that he would not be getting up anymore.

 

Letting Hank tall with the police officer currently guarding the crime scene, Connor moved carefully past the stacks of random items, taking in the entire house as he moved from one room to the other.

The second room was smaller, but as crammed full as the other. And then Connor spotted it, a trail, knocked over objects, only a few seeming out of place, all leading away from the first room and to the other side of the second. 

Moving quietly, watching his step, Connor followed it, walking towards a dirty closet door, firmly shut but having been clearly opened recently, an arch of clear space on the ground in front of it indicating where the door had pushed objects, dust and dirt out of the way.

 

Connor paused for a moment, making sure he wouldn't be visible through any of the cracks in the door, contemplating. 

He could get Hank.

But the chance for Hank getting even more annoyed through the fight the suspect would definitely put up was very high. And Connor wanted to avoid that.

He shouldn't have to much trouble in securing the suspect. He had done this before. He knew what to do.

 

And as the door flew open, knocking Connor right in his temple, sending him to the floor in a whirl of static and error messages flashing in his vision, Connor knew he had been wrong.

Getting up, still slightly dazed, Connor heard shouts from the other room, sprinting towards the sound as fast as he could, just to find both Hank and the other officer, having been knocked straight into the heaps of objects around the room, struggling to free themselves from the avalanche of newspapers, old clothes and crates that had fallen on top of them. 

 

“Don't just stand there! Get after him!” Hank shouted as he pushed piles of fabric off of his head.

 

But Connor already knew he was too late, even before he had sprinted out of the door and scanned his surroundings, just to find the suspect had indeed gotten away.

He couldn't believe it. He had let a suspect go, again. And this time not because something more important had distracted him, but only through his own stupidity and carelessness.

And what made it even worse was the disappointment in Hank's words, as the other man made it out of the house, stray pieces of newspaper still clinging to him.

 

“Fuck! Fuck... just fuckin’ perfect. Got nothin’ to show 'n have to explain why we let a suspect get 'way. This day's just gettin’ shittier ‘n shittier..”

 

Great. He had upset Hank even more. This day really was the worst.

 

\------

 

The ride back to the precinct was a silent one. No conversation, not even music, nothing apart from the rain that had finally started, just the way Connor had predicted it to. Hank was silently fuming, his fingers tapping the steering wheel with impatience, his brow furrowing constantly from anger and the slight but persistent headache.

And Connor, well Connor felt like a complete failure. Not only did he disappointed and upset Hank, but he seemed to have also gotten injured in the process. 

 

He hadn't noticed at first, the light throb behind his eyes, the static creeping along the border of his vision. But it was fine. Well, it wasn't fine. It was bad. Bad because Hank always got upset when Connor managed to injure himself. And Connor didn't want to lower the other man's mood even further, he had already done enough damage after all.

 

The car suddenly stopped, making Connor jerk out of his thoughts and look around. They hadn't arrived at the precinct like intended, standing next to a food truck, the chicken feed. Hank had already gotten out without a word, while Connor was still looking out of the window, marching through the rain towards the truck.

 

“Double chicken burger, Gary. Today's been a kick in the ass 'n I'm starvin’.”

 

Hank didn't turn around as Connor joined him, greeting Gary with a short gesture of his hand and a smile. Hopefully, something to eat would raise Hank's mood.

 

“Not a word 'bout my food today got it!?”

 

“Got it.”

 

“ ‘'n stop soundin’ like a kicked puppy. Ya let the suspect go. That's shit, but poutin’ won't do anythin’ but piss me off.”

 

Connor grimaced. Now he really hoped that Hank's mood would be better after the other ate something. This was harsh, even for Hank.

Hank sighed.

 

“Uhg..listen, I didn't mean that. Just a shitty day.” He placed a hand on Connor's shoulder. “I didn't manage to hold onto him either, it happens. Don't beat yourself up over it.”

 

Connor nodded. Maybe he should tell Hank about the strange malfunction in his optical sensors…

In exact that moment, Hank swore as the contents of his burger slipped out between the buns and landed on the sopping wet floor in a sad heap.

Ok. Maybe he wouldn't bother Hank with that now. He didn't want to make his dad's day even worse than it already was.

 

\------

 

Back at the station, Connor started noticing the uncomfortable feeling, brewing behind his forehead and eyes. It was...dull, pressing. Like somebody was blowing up a balloon inside of his skull.

And then it happened for the first time, his vision suddenly just...going out. It was a brief flicker, only the fraction of a second in which everything went completely dark. But that didn't make it less concerning.

 

Looking up carefully, Connor made sure Hank hadn't noticed anything. The man, currently scowling at his terminal, didn't even notice Connor's brief stare. Good. He would deal with this later. He had already refused to tell Hank for hours if he did now Hank would not only be upset about the injury but also about the fact that Connor had kept it to himself for so long. There really was no way but forwards, so Connor kept his mouth shut and his eyes trained on the screen of his der terminal, ignoring how the static kept disrupting his view.

 

He managed to go another half an hour before his vision blacked out again, just to return much worse than it had been before.

 

_ Optical Unit compromised _

_ Left Unit 56% _

_ Right Unit 47% _

 

Connor blinked multiple times, trying to focus on anything in all, but no matter what, everything remained smudged and blurred, static and darkness mixing with blobs of colour. This was very..unfortunate. There was no way he would be able to continue on with his work like that. Not without Hank noticing something.

Subtly, keeping his hands on the keyboard, Connor retracted his skin, just enough to make his fingertips shine white, forming a connection to his terminal. It wasn’t as stable and fast as it would be with direct contact to the terminal itself instead of to the keyboard. But Hank would definitely notice that something wasn’t right if Connor suddenly started stroking the side of the terminal. And, Connor thought as he pressed two of his fingers against his temple, he was really not in the mood to explain what happened and why he kept it to himself for so long.

 

“Con? The fuck ya doin’?”

 

Well, seems like he hadn’t been as subtle as he should have been, Connor thought.

 

“Nothing.”

 

“Uhu, sure looks like that. That’s why yer fingers are all sparkly ‘n white?”

 

He had retracted his skin too far. Connor could have slapped himself, but he was sure that would make Hank just more suspicious and definitely not help with the pressure inside his skull. It was just getting worse, making his already poor vision flicker even more.

 

“I am just….tired.”

 

“Ya doin’ that weird data transfer thing?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Cheater.”

 

“I’m not cheating, I’m just using all the resources available to me.”

 

“Just ‘nother way of sayin’ ya cheated.” Hank chuckled, seemingly in a better mood than a few hours before. “Get yourself a coffee kid, this shit’s not gonna run ‘way anytime soon..”

 

Yes. Coffee. That sounded like a good excuse to sneak off for a few moments and get a chance to run a system scan without anybody noticing.

 

“I’ll be right back,” Connor said while getting up out of his chair, creating a map of the precinct out of parts of his memory files. The last thing he wanted was to run into something and draw suspicion to himself.

Connor barely made it through the door of the breakroom as his vision cut out again, making him stumble at the lack of orientation. His map was one thing, but seeing at least something was still far more helpful. 

Taking careful steps forward, Connor felt the dull pain in his head increase with every moment his vision didn’t return. And it didn’t even flicker, complete darkness surrounding him

with each and every step. 

 

Groaning as he pressed his knuckles against his forehead, Connor fumbled his way towards where he knew the sofa was, just to tumble next to it on the floor, having calculated its current position just slightly wrong.

This was going terribly. He just wanted a moment to check his system and maybe find a way to get rid of that annoying throbbing, which was slowly sending white flashes through his vision, making Connor wince with each one.

Connor just thought it could not get any worse as he felt something warm and slick run down his cheeks, his processor suddenly exploding in a burst of pain and the darkness in his vision swallow him completely.

 

\------

 

Connor opened his eyes to a woman's face right above him, red, short hair standing on end, framing a round, friendly face, freckles and light patches decorating her skin while deep, green eyes looked right into his brown ones.

 

“Hi, I'm Mary”, said the woman in a strong, Scottish accent. “ And yer an idiot.”

 

That was a strange introduction.

 

“Actually, my name is Connor.”

 

Mary chuckled as she typed something into a nearby terminal, letting the other person in the room move closer to where Connor was laying on what felt like an examination table, rubbery fabric over a thin mattress.

 

“Yer still ‘n idiot. Collapsin’ in the fuckin’ breakroom with blood streamin’ down yer face like in some god damn horror flick.”

 

Connor avoided looking at Hank. This was exactly what he had hoped to avoid.

 

“Not gonna say anythin’? Well, then let’s listen to what Mary here has to say, maybe she can shine some light onto this whole thing.”

 

And Connor knew exactly that Hank had already all the information he needed, probably having been told by Mary, who could only be the precincts new technician, and who definitely not only had found the problem in Connor’s system, but also had seen how long it was already there.

 

“Well, ye got a pretty nasty bruise on the side of yer head, hidden by that artificial skin of yers,” Mary began, her eyes twinkling towards Connor for a moment, before moving back towards the terminal’s screen. “And I’m sure ye know pretty well that it didn’t just appear there out of nowhere in the past few minutes. Lookin’ at how far yer system has already taken care of it, I would say ye got it about...6 hour ago?”

 

Connor couldn’t help but grimace as guilt drove through him at Hank’s exasperated sigh. He had really just made things worse and worse today, hasn’t he?

 

“The bruise is basically just Thirium that leaked out of a few broken lines and collected behind yer eyes. Ye probably had some trouble seeing, am I right?”

 

“..yes..”

 

“And a rather bad headache?”

 

“....yes…”

 

Hank groaned.

 

“‘n ya didn’t tell me ‘bout it...why?”

 

“I’m...uh...I...I am…”

 

“I’m listenin’..”

 

Connor didn’t really know what to say. All his reasons seemed...strange and stupid now, looking at the fact that he had completely failed at not lowering Hank’s mood even further. Mary cleared her throat, interrupting both man’s silence.

 

“Well, I’m gonna leave ye two alone, got some other things to do after all..” 

 

Wheeling out of the room with a quiet squeak of her wheelchair, Mary closed the door behind her, unable to stop herself from giving Connor a quick but amused grin and a wink through the gap in the door.

 

“So, I’m still listenin’.”

 

“Well...I...I didn’t want to upset you. You already had such a bad day, I didn’t want to make it even worse by bothering you with my problems.”

 

Connor expected Hank to groan, swear, or throw up his hands in annoyance. But instead, he heard a quiet sigh, the soft mattress of the examination table dipping slightly as Hank sat beside him, placing a firm but comforting hand onto Connor’s shoulder.

 

“Son, I...I know I’ve been a dick today. ‘n I’m sorry about that. But that’s just...how I am. I get annoyed easily, ‘n get angry often. I’m not...proud of it, ‘n I’m..tryin’ to work on it, I’ve gotten way more tolerable since meeting ya,” Hank chuckled. “But I want ya to know, no matter how much I’m bitchin’ bout shit, ya can always come to me if yer in trouble, ‘lright?”

 

“But I don’t want to..upsett you further.”

 

“What really ‘psetts me is ya keepin’ this shit from me. I don’t wanna walk into the breakroom ‘gain to find ya covered in blood ‘n unconscious.”

 

Finally turning towards Hank, Connor gave the older man a crooked smile.

 

“I seem to have...made a mistake.”

 

“Well, welcome to beein’ alive. That’s definitely not goin’ to be yer last.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote that in a daze of the new sleeping meds I got prescribed, so excuse any mistakes. I kept getting stuck every few sentences, I hope it's not to bad <.<;
> 
>  
> 
> |||| Prompts are very welcome! |||
> 
> .
> 
> ||||Please leave a comment, they keep me going!||||
> 
> [Also I'm writing another dbh fic at the moment if anybody's interested :3 ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16623377/chapters/38967752)


	17. Maybe don't bring your robot son to a place that traumatized him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor has some trouble with his preconstruction abilities.

Connor's mind was always occupied, always reconstructing, preconstructing, analyzing. It was there, always at the back of his mind, a preconstruction of events, running as those events happened. It didn't matter if he was chasing a criminal or at home, making fried eggs for Hank and himself. 

He couldn't do anything about it, he was just built that way. And honestly, he didn't feel the need to change anything about that. The preconstructions didn't bother him much, his mind had been working this way since the day he was created. 

What did bother him was what happened to those preconstructions when he was under stress. 

 

Before deviating, Connor only started to think faster, act faster, work faster when his stress levels rose. But now, now that he had a full range of emotions and nothing restraining them anymore...well, things began to change. 

His preconstruction program went haywire the more his stress level rose, displaying events that were unlikely to occur, over exaggerations of the actual situation and it's possible outcomes so to say.

 

It first happened when Connor was on his way back from work, Hank having stayed home that day because of an especially bad depressive episode, unable to even roll out of bed in the morning. So Connor had gone alone, worried and struggling to keep his stress levels under control. 

The rest of the day went by in an unpleasant blur, Gavin's snarky comments, a suspect's frantic pleads, a crime scene with a small infant, barely old enough to walk, dead by what turned out to be a terrible accident. It all didn't help with Connor's already high stress, his LED twitching and spiralling yellow, not once changing back to blue.

 

And on the way home, it happened. His preconstructions suddenly started to..change. At first, everything was normal. Walking through the streets. The possibility of going into a store or not. The possible outcomes of entering the store. The possible items he could buy and how long it would take. How he would carry them home. How high the chance was that something would happen that he dropped one or multiple items and the consequences of that.

Everything normal. Just like always, all of his possible actions, the most likely outside influences and the results of both action and inaction.

 

But then something...glitched. Connor wasn't sure why or how. It seemed like everything suddenly started to get faster, more frantic.

 

_ Coming home. Lights off. No sound. Stepping inside. No Sumo greeting him. Sumo, dead on the living room floor, choked on one of his toys. Hank in his bed, not having noticed. Hank's reaction, his guilt, his grief. _

_ Coming home. No lights. Frantic barking. Sumo scratching at the bathroom door. Door unlocked. Hank in the bathtub. Blood on his head. No pulse. No reaction.  _

_ Coming home. One dim light. No sound. Sumo lying next to Hank on the floor. Hank, surrounded by empty bottles.  No pulse. No breathing. Choked on his own vomit. _

_ Coming home. One dim light. No sound. Opening the door. One sound. Gunshot. Blood. Hank on the floor. Bullet to the head. Barking. No pulse. No breathing. _

_ Coming home. Spinning of the gun's chamber. One empty click. Another. One gunshot. Hank dead on the ground. _

_ Coming home. Hank on the bed. No pulse. Heart attack.  _

_ Coming home. Hank on the floor in the living room. S͞t͘r͟o͝k͜e͡. Dead. _

_ Com̨ing̴ ̛h̡ǫm͜e. Empty. Hank gone. _

_ Ç͟o̡̧m̡̕in̶͘͝g ̢h͘͟o̵͝m͘e̴͞͏. Hank dead. _

_ C̡͠͝om̶̛͢͠į̶͏̵̕n҉͡g͏̶̶̕ ҉̸͏h̶҉҉̷̕o̸̵̕m̧̡҉͟͠e͜… _

 

Connor only noticed that he had started running once he was fumbling frantically for his key, missing the lock multiple times as his processing power was eaten up by more preconstructions. 

But once he entered, storming inside in a blind panic, he found the house the same. Sumo looking at him sleepily, alive. Hank snoring in his bedroom, alive. 

Connor barely managed to drag himself to Hank's room, his legs numb and distant, just to curl up on the floor next to the older man's bed.

 

He hadn't told Hank of course. Pretending that he was just trying a different tactic to wake the other in the morning, instead of being unable to even leave the room without his processor going haywire again. 

But once Hank was awake and still alive, Connor's stress levels finally lowered enough for the preconstructions to just...shut off. Not completely. But almost, only a few running at the back of his mind again, like they were supposed to, like they had before.

 

And this time wasn't the last time it happened, Connor's processor starting to behave more frantic, more panicked, whenever he was stressed enough, trapping him in endless possibilities, playing them out in front of his very eyes, one more gruesome, more terrifying than the last.

 

But Connor had it under control. It was just a small problem, more annoying than anything else. There was no need to tell Hank. There was no need to tell Hank that there might be something wrong with his processor. There was no need to tell Hank, no need to speak those things Connor saw out loud, to make them more real by putting them into words. He just had to get through it from time to time. It was alright.

Connor real had it all under control.

 

Until he didn't.

 

\------

 

Connor and Hank usually took turns walking Sumo, but sometimes they both went out, either to spend more time with the other outside of work or to get some fresh air. They went different ways, sometimes just up the road and back again, sometimes to a nearby store to pick some stuff up, sometimes a bit farther, down the river.

This time Hank was walking Sumo, choosing the route while Connor walked next to him, looking up at the few, stray snowflakes that fell from the sky. His stress levels rose slightly, he just couldn't get used to snow again. It always reminded him of...Connor pushed the thoughts away, concentrating on the feeling of cold air against his skin.

Which..didn't help much. It wasn't just the snow that bothered him. It was the cold that made him really nervous. The first thing he ever properly felt, cold and fear, forever engraved into his mind. 

 

“Ya 'lright?” Hank's voice ripped Connor out his thoughts, made him shake his head slightly, before nodding.

 

“Yes. Just..thinking.”

 

“That's nothing new. Yer thinking too much. Way too much.”

 

“I'm pretty sure if I would completely stop thinking I would be declared braindead.”

 

“Shut it.”

 

Hank chuckled. 

 

“How 'bout we go somewhere ya can think in peace. Been goin’ there 'gain from time to time lately..”

 

Connor raised his eyebrows. ‘Again’? There were many possible places Hank could be talking about. Jimmy's, the bar Hank stopped visiting for a few weeks now, one of the other bars he had frequented before that, maybe...the dog park? Connor let his thoughts drift i to the background again.

 

“Where is that place?”

 

“Ya will see in a bit. Ye've been there before.”

 

Maybe the large park with the big trees? The quiet, small plaza with the fountain? The place where Connor often fed pigeons, to Hank's dismay. There were many possibilities, but none close enough, the direction they were walking wrong..

 

And then the river came into view and Connor's stress level spiked. 

He had walked next to the river before, alone and with Hank. But never here, never back here again. 

The view was the same, stars and clouds, dark water, buildings, far away and even farther, windows, black and empty or alight with life.

Connor felt his Thirium pump beat faster as his preconstructions pushed forward, occupying more of his processing power than he wanted them to.

 

_ A gun pointed at him. Hank says something. Connor answers. The gun is lowered, but Hank is angry. He doesn't want to talk to Connor for weeks. _

 

The smell is the same too. Wet and cold, like rotting wood, sand and dirt, plants. The faint, lingering smell of food, parents bringing snacks for their children who play on the playground. Metall, rusty but oiled, touched by many, small hands, touch that made the smell stronger. 

 

_ A gun pointed at him. Hank asks something, Connor struggles to answer. He is afraid. He can barely speak. He answers. Hank looks disappointed, leaving without Connor. He asks Connor to not come home again. _

 

Connor's breath quickens. His processor is taking things that happened, shoving them into the present, connecting them to things that weren't there, creating preconstructions out of not existing scenarios.

 

“Ya ok? Yer never so quiet”, Hank's voice is the only sound apart from faraway cars and water. “Not that I mind a break for a bit.”

 

“I'm alright. Just...still thinking,” it takes Connor more concentration than he has to keep his voice neutral, his face neutral, his body neutral. He is alright. Everything is under control.

 

Hank’s voice is no longer the only sound. There are children playing. Parent’s watching them. A voice, many voices, thing’s they might have said, shouted, asked and answered. Mixing in, Hank’s voice, and that of a small boy reconstructed out of nothing, out of voices of other children, out of Hank’s own, out of variables and calculations. 

 

_ A mother calls for her son. He doesn’t come. He comes. The mother gives him a snack. The mother calls for him again. A father shouts at two siblings, telling them to stop fighting. The siblings stop. They don’t. The father sighs. The father gets angry. Children laugh. No, they cry. No, they shout. No, they do everything at once. They beg to stay longer. They ask to leave. They say hello and goodbye. _

 

The sounds are loud, so loud, everything that could have, should have, would have happened on this small playground, all the noise and voices, all mixing together in a cacophony of shrieks like a feedback loop.

 

_ A gun being cocked. _

 

Mixed in, in between all those other noises. A gun being cocked. Decocked again. But also not. It could be safe, it could be ready to fire. Over and over and over.

 

But they keep walking, walking through the thin layer of snow, now collecting on the ground.

 

“Ya sure yer ok? Yer..blinky thing...uh...LED’s goin’ crazy.”

 

“Oh.” Connor has no processing power left to formulate full sentences, so many preconstructions running at once, so many reconstructions, seeing thing’s that could happen, that could have happened, mixing both together in a strange and terrifying way.

 

And then they are at the bench. Not the same one. Or maybe it is. Connor doesn’t know. He doesn’t know anything apart from what could or could not happen, could or could not have happened. 

Hank sits down with a grunt, saying something Connor doesn’t hear.

 

_ Hank pulls a gun out. Connor is scared. He doesn’t want to die. He says it. He pleads. He begs. Hank doesn’t move. He lowers the gun. _

_ Connor collapses on the ground in relief. _

_ Hank raises the gun again. _

_ He pulls the trigger. _

 

Connor is on the ground. He doesn’t know why or where. He just knows that he could die, that something could happen, that he needs to do something, but the possibilities are endless, and he can’t think. He can’t think enough to choose, he can’t think enough to even understand.

Hank is in front of him.

_ Hank pulls a gun out. _

Hank doesn’t pull a gun.

_ Hank looks concerned/angry/happy/annoyed/uncaring/upset/sad/confused _

Hank is worried. He is talking, but Connor can’t hear, everything he could possibly say ringing in his ears.

_ Hank is shouting at him to get up. Hank is asking him if he is alright. Hank is smirking, jokingly asking what Connor’s doing on the ground. Hank sighs, says nothing. Hank tells him he is broken. Hank tells him he is dangerous.  _

_ Hank tells him he knows why the snow bothers Connor so much.  _

_ Hank says there is a chance it could happen again.  _

_ Hank says he just can’t risk letting Connor go.  _

_ Hank says Connor will kill somebody one day. _

_ Hank says Connor will kill him one day. _

_ Hank says Connor he has no choice. _

_ Hank pulls out a gun. _

 

Connor screams.

 

\------

 

Hank has no idea what’s going on. And usually, he has at least some kind of idea. At least a glimpse of one. Something to get one. Anything. Not completely nothing.

 

Connor suddenly sinks to the ground, practically collapsing on the snow-covered stone, and Hank - long past needing a second to move into action, having been a policeman for long enough to move first and think, understand later - is on his knees in front of him immediately. 

“Shit, I knew somethin’ was wrong. Talk to me, what is it?” Hank stretches out his hands to place them on Connor’s shoulders, try to comfort the other, steady him, anything. But Connor flinches back, eyes wide, looking wildly from side to side to side, left, right, up, down, almost blurry trough their speed, his mouth opening and closing without a sound, his eyelids fluttering, his LED spinning like a whirlwind, red, red, red, no yellow, just red.

 

“Jesus Fuck! Is this some kinda robo-seizure? The fuck do I do ‘bout a robo-seizure!?” Hank is lost. First aid he can do. First aid on an android with an injury a human can have, he can do. First aid on an android who can tell him what to do, he can do. But this...he can barely use his phone if something went wrong in Connor’s computer-brain, the most Hank can do is try to slap him like an old TV. But the way Connor practically flees from every movement twitches even at the slightest thing Hank does, it doesn’t seem like a good idea.

 

And then Connor screams. It’s the most heartwrenching wail, pure terror like Hank had never heard it in his entire life. He didn’t even know Connor could scream, and definitely never imagined to hear such a sound come from his adopted son.

 

“Holy fuck!” Hank can’t stop himself from recoiling at the sudden scream, losing his balance and falling on his ass like the graceful man that he always was.

The scream doesn’t seem to stop, even though it can’t be that long, it’s over before Hank is back on his knees, and not because he has gotten incredibly slow with old age. But it seems like an eternity, the sound still ringing in Hank's ears after it’s gone. 

But it’s not quiet again. 

Connor doesn’t scream again, but he starts talking, rambling, feet sliding over the ground in clumsy, jerky movements, trying to push him backwards, trying to shove his body somewhere, away from whatever was scaring him out of his mind, but failing. His hands are in his hair, in his face, clawing, covering, protecting, grabbing, twisting, pulling. His eyes still so wide, no longer looking around, only looking forward, staring like frozen.

 

“No, no, no, no, no, please, please don’t, please I won’t, please don’t, please don’t please don’t!”

 

Hank let’s go of Sumo’s leash - the poor dog was cowering beneath the bench going nowhere - raising both, now empty hands, into the air.

 

“It’s ok. It’s ‘lright,” Hank kept his voice as stable and quiet as he could, even though he felt like screaming himself. “I won’t do anythin’ ya don’t want me to, ok?”

 

“I’ll be good, I’ll won’t hurt you, I won’t hurt anybody, I won’t do anything, please don’t, I don’t want to die again, not again, not again, please, please, please!!”

 

Hank can feel a burn behind his eyes as he scoots forward slowly, hands still raised, moving slow enough that he won’t startle Connor anymore, trying to make sense of what he was hearing, while wishing he didn’t know. But he had an idea. A bad one.

 

“Please don’t shoot! Please, I’m so sorry!” Connor sobs, fingers clawing at his face as he stares on in horror.

 

Hank wishes he could travel back in time just to beat himself up. Kick his own ass. He had one idea where this was coming from, and he hated himself for it. Hated his past self and his present self. Why in the fuck had he dragged Connor here? Why here of all places?!

He hadn’t seemed to bothered by the encounter back then, not seemed to bothered by having a gun pointed at him. And Hank, being the genius in android psychology that he was, had assumed everything was a-ok again. Sure, Connor seemed to be...concerned? Contemplate his own death for maybe the first time? But Hank hadn’t shot him, no physical damage, nothing, just scared the everliving shit out of somebody who was grasping on the first straws of emotions and life.

Great fucking job. And now Hank had gone and brought the poor sod here, here again. Just because Hank himself had started to come here just to get some fresh air and listen to music. Just to remember the good memories associated with this place instead of the bad ones swirling in his head every day.

But just because Hank associated this place with something good, didn’t mean Connor did. And looking at his reaction, it was quite clear that he really, really didn’t.

 

“Please I don’t want to die, not again, no, no, no, I won’t hurt you, I can’t hurt you, I will never, I can’t, just please, please, please!”

 

Hank scoots forward a bit more, his knees and back protesting at the way he was crouching on the hard ground, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was to calm Connor down before he did more damage than the few scratches on his face. Hank remembered the android they had interrogated, bashing his head in once he was in his cell. Hank remembered Connor doing the same in his hallway while suffering from withdrawal from the drugs given to him against his will.

 

“I’m so scared, I’m so scared please, I can’t die again, there was nothing, nothing, nothing, and I was back, but I won’t be back again, never again, I don’t want to go back to nothing, I can’t, I don’t want to, please, please, please,  _ please _ !!”

 

And then, finally, Hank is close enough, wrapping his arms around Connor firmly, pulling the shaking and sobbing android to his chest, holding him there as he struggles to get free.

 

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no!”

 

“Shh, it’s ok, it’s alright, I’ve got ya,” Hank catches himself slipping so easily back into a voice he hadn’t used in years, one he had used when his other son had woken up from bad dreams and couldn’t stop crying, wouldn’t stop clinging to Hank. “Just try to listen to my voice, ‘lright? Just try to only listen to me. Yer ok, yer gonna be ok.”

 

Connor’s struggles, already mechanic and strange in the beginning, died down to only twitches, his LED still red, his eyes still wide, open, wet with tears. Hank was sure his own eyes looked the same at the moment. What a sight they must be, two crying men, on the ground, in the dark, next to a playground with a dog, hiding beneath the bench.

 

“Please..”, Connor’s voice is barely a whisper, static and robotic, but Hank would recognize it everywhere and all the time.

 

“I won’t hurt ya, nobody will, promise,” Hank would dropkick himself if he could, just to prove his words. “‘n ya not gonna hurt me either, it’s ok..”

 

Hank’s hands had automatically started rubbing small but firm circles on Connor’s back, pulling Connor’s hand’s away when the latter started to weakly tear at himself again. Minutes passed, maybe longer, snow slowly collecting over the two of them like a blanket, Sumo, crawling out from underneath the bench, sniffing towards them to nose Connor gently, settling down with a quiet whine to wrap around the two men. And slowly, slowly Connor seemed to come back to reality, his eyes slipping shut after a while, his body sagging against Hank’s, his LED slowly pulsing into a yellow light.

 

“There ya go..” Hank muttered, rocking both of them softly forwards and backwards, something that was engraved into his parental instincts the same way that tone of voice was. “Just keep listenin’ to my voice, ‘k?”

 

A weak, but audible hum came from Connor, his LED finally cycling fully yellow.

 

They stayed like this for half an hour, maybe more, maybe less. Time seemed to fly and drag by at the same time, but finally, finally Connor’s LED cycled blue once, twice, and his eyes slid open, tired eyes looking up at Hank.

 

“Fuckin’ hell, ya scared the shit outta me,” Hank whispered, without any bite to it.

 

“Sorry,” Connor mumbled back, exhaustion clear in his voice, his face, his pale LED.

 

“We...should probably go home. Sumo’s probably frozen half to death, ‘n my ass’ killin’ me..” Hank looked between dog and android, cracking a shaky, awkward smile. 

“ ‘n we definitely have some shit to talk ‘bout.”

 

Connor opened his mouth, but Hank cut him off.

 

“First let’s get outta the fuckin’ cold. No rush to talk, we’ve got the day off tomorrow anyway.”

 

Sighing, Hank added after a look at Connor’s face, his slightly twitching mouth and raised brows.

 

“Ya don’t have ta tell me anythin’ ya don’t want to. But, ‘n I’m usually not to shabby with this kinda shit, I’ve got a feelin’ that it might be not a completely shitty idea.”

 

And with only slight hesitation, Connor nodded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> |||| Prompts are very welcome! |||  
> .  
> ||||Please leave a comment, they keep me going!||||
> 
> [Also I'm writing another dbh fic at the moment if anybody's interested :3 ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16623377/chapters/38967752)


	18. Can androids even get sealegs?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor has never been on a boat before

“Come on, get your ass onboard. I don’t want to be stuck here for longer then I have to,” Hank called from aboard the small police boat, currently docked at one side of the Detroit River.

 

An android body had been found, attached to a wooden pole in the middle of the river, dead and mangled. The scene had been left untouched, police boats guarding the area, forensic teams already on board, divers searching the water for anything that was hidden under the surface.

 

Connor eyed the boat wearily, scanning the peeling paint on the outside, the wet, stained deck, the unsteady looking, wooden plank that connected the dry land with the softly swaying, floating vehicle.

Hank groaned.

 

“Stop scannin’ that fuckin’ thing and hurry up, I don’t wanna still be here when it starts to rain.”

 

Connor cast a glance up at the grey sky, covered in thick, dark clouds, before sighing and stepping on board.

 

Well, or trying to.

Completely miscalculating his first step, Connor had to catch himself on the railing of the plank to keep himself from falling over immediately. That was unexpected.

Connor took another step, gripping the railing hard, trying to foresee the swaying of the boat, but misjudging it again, stumbling slightly, but remaining upright. The third step was no less problematic, as was the fourth. Stumbling like a drunk, Connor finally managed to climb aboard, only to realize that the swaying motion was now even stronger, the plank having been stabilized by the ground it had been temporarily attached to. Connor pressed himself against the outside wall of the driver's cabin, wide-eyed and confused.

 

It was like his gyroscope had stopped working, as if it had just decided to shut off. But it was still online, working frantically, Connor didn’t have to run a scan to know that, he could feel it whirr inside of him, trying to keep him upright but failing completely. The waves had no pattern to them, came from all sides, in different heights, in different speeds. Connor wasn’t an android made to work on a ship, he didn’t have the software to even begin to manually adjust his gyroscope. He didn’t have the experience. He didn’t have anything to work with. He had never set foot on a ship before, apart from Jericho. And Jericho had been broken, heavy, the water so shallow it couldn’t float, just sit on the sandy ground, the waves no longer able to make it sway.

 

Connor moved carefully forward as the plank was pulled onboard and the ship roared to life.

 

“The hell ya doin’?” Hank barked, but there was no real bite to his question. he watched Connor struggle to walk, brows furrowed in confusion and worry. “Did ya break somethin’ ‘N didn’t tell me, again?”

 

Connor opened his mouth to answer, but was cut off as the boat lurched forward, speeding up and leaving the dock behind.

Connor fell on the ground, his face meeting the wet wood, his eyes fixed on the solid land that was slowly moving farther and farther away, as the boat drove a curve and sped off towards the scene of the crime. He couldn’t help but miss the solid concrete beneath his feet already, especially as he tried to push himself upright, struggling not to fall over again.

 

A sudden, steadying pair of hands grabbed him under his arms, hoisting him upright.

 

“Jesus, kid. Hold onto somethin’ if ya can’t keep yer balance.”

 

Connor grimaced up at Hank, grabbing the rope that was attached to the wall as a makeshift railing, holding it tight while pressing himself against the wall.

 

“It’s still a good 20 minutes till we’re at the place they found that poor bastard, fucker couldn’t have killed him a bit nearer to where we got our shitty boats…” Hank muttered under his breath, swaying with the motion of the ship, casually leaning against the railing. Connor couldn’t help but feel a bit jealous at the way the other man kept himself steady and upright without a problem.

 

“Never been on a boat before, have you?”

 

Connor shook his head, concentrating on not falling over again. “No, I have been never been sent on a mission that involved boarding a boat or ship. And I had not...considered going on one myself...Even though I don’t regret that decision, given the current circumstances.”

 

Hank laughed, clapping Connor lightly on the shoulder, careful not to knock him off of his feet.

 

“Don’t worry, you’re gonna get used to this. First time I was on a boat, I almost fell into the water ‘caus I couldn’t walk without fallin’ over. Ya just need to get some sealegs, ‘n yer gonna be good.”

 

Connor frowned at the thought of having to get used to this, of having to make this an often occurring scenario, just so he would be able to walk on a boat without falling over, just as the boat jumped especially hard, making Connor feel as if his gyroscope suddenly bounced and spun like mad.

 

“Woah, shit, you’re alright? Never seen you just go pale like that, before.”

 

Connor tried to answer, but his insides where suddenly lurchign with each movement of the ship, bouncing and rolling around like loose marbles in a jar. His gyroscope sent out faulty signals, that contradicted the movement around himself, making Connor’s head spin, and his artificial stomach roil. Swallowing down an unusual amount of his mouths cleaning fluid, Connor tried to ignore the bitter taste of the disinfectant, trying to just focus on staying upright and recalibrating his gyroscope.

Connor didn’t even have a chance to manually override his gyroscope, as suddenly a warning popped up in his vision.

 

**_Thirium levels to high_ **

**_Expulsion imminent_ **

 

Connor barely managed to throw himself against the opposite railing, before he was retching up Thirium, each jump of the boat, each lurch, making his gyroscope go crazy, each faulty signal it sent out, bringing the rest of his system out of sync. 

 

“Ah, crap!”

 

Connor screwed his eyes shut, as a pair of hands grabbed him and held him in place, the only steady, solid thing that Connor could feel. Spitting out a mouthful of Thirium Connor groaned and grasped the railing he was leaning over, like a lifeline.

 

“Shit, didn’t know androids can get seasick..”

 

“I’m not...seasick. My gyroscope is unable t-..”

 

Connor swallowed hard against the urge to throw up, but it was to no avail. Clutching his aching abdomen with one hand, Connor coughed up more blood, panting, feeling his mouth fill with artificial saliva and a pulling sensation at the back of his troath. He hated being nauseous. It was hell.

 

“My...gyroscope...is unable to cope with the..way the ship moves..It’s sending out wrong signals..that make the rest of my system malfunction...unable to properly identify the amount of...of Thirium currently in my body, misreading the way the motions make it move as there being too much...because my gyroscope doesn’t provide the right information.”

 

“So...the android version of bein’ seasick?”

 

Connor tried to argue, but another order to purge Thirium slipped through his feeble tries to block them, and he clenched his teeth, trying to force his system to stop that way. 

Not surprisingly, it didn’t work, his body leaning dangerously far over the railing, making Hank swear under his breath and pull him back up.

  
  


**_Thirium levels to high_ **

**_Expulsion imminent_ **

**_Thirium levels 78%_ **

**_Purge dangerous_ **

**_Purge_ ** **_overriden_ **

**_Thirium levels to high_ **

**_Expulsion imminent_ **

 

Connor retched drily as his body fought with itself, unable to purge more, but still receiving signals that an immediate purge was necessary.

Whimpering Connor pressed his lips tightly together, keeping his eyes shut as he rested his forehead on the cool and wet railing. 

A rough, warm hand slowly tucked a few loose strands of hair behind his ear, slowly stroking over his head.

 

“Fuck, you got it pretty bad..We better head back ‘n let some other guys deal with this.”

 

Connor felt his insides clench at that, but not from nausea. He couldn’t just leave. He had to solve this case! He had to…

Raising his head sharply to protest had been a bad idea. Everything swayed for a moment, his gyroscope feeling like spinning top, completely out of control as his system initiated another purge.

 

“ ‘n lookin’ at the fact that ya can’t even get a ‘No’ out without pukin’, we’re definitely headin’ back.”

 

Keeping one hand on Connor’s shoulder, to keep the poor android from falling into the water below, Hank knocked at the window of the captain's cabin, motioning for her to turn back around and drive back to the dock.

 

“Alright, son, we’re almost back on dry land. You still got ‘nough of your blood inside you?”

 

Connor kept his eyes closed as he checked. 

 

“69%.”

 

“Nice...no, fuck, not nice.”

 

Connor couldn’t help but chuckles weakly. 

 

“Fuck, ok, let’s...try to keep ya from pukin’ up more of that shit, then,” Hank had both hands back on Connor’s shoulders, rubbing small circles with his thumbs. “Try to look at a faraway point, the fuckin’ farthest thing ya can see.”

 

Connor groaned.

 

“I would rather keep my eyes closed, Hank.”

 

“Yeah, I know. But trust me on this.”

 

So Connor did. Opening his eyes, he raised his head and fixed his gaze at one of the skyscrapers on one side of the river, fixing his gaze on the top of the farthest one. 

 

“Alright, just keep looking at it, try to breathe deeply. ‘s gonna be ok, just ten more minutes.”

 

Connor took a deep breath, letting it out again slowly, repeating the motion as he kept his gaze firmly glued to the top of the skyscraper. 

 

“Try ‘n not think about it, alright? Distraction’s the best shit ‘gainst puking up your guts on a ship.”

 

Connor swallowed, trying to ignore the unpleasant sensation in his abdomen. It was practically impossible.

 

“It’s hard not to think about it when it’s part of my system…”

 

“Uh, fuck..how ‘bout I tell ya about my time on ships ‘n boats?”

 

Connor nodded, thinking it wise to keep mouth closet until he was off of this hellish ride.

 

“Well, my dad took me fishin’ a couple of times. On lakes ‘n shit, in tiny little rowboats,” Hank patted Connor on the back, stroking his shoulder with one hand while holding him steady with his other.

 

“I’ve fallen out of those things more times than I wanna admit. But it was pretty fun. ‘n later, when I was a beat cop, I got transferred to the coast guards for a few weeks a couple of times, whenever the weather was incredibly shitty and they needed a few extra hands.”

 

Connor kept breathing slowly, listening and looking far out at the seemingly unmoving form of the large building, barely noticing as time passed, only turning his head as the boat slowed down and suddenly stopped.

 

Hank couldn’t help but laugh as Connor frantically stumbled to get off the boat, almost falling over his feet at how fast he tried to reach dry land again.

 

“Well, I take ya won’t want to take a fishin’ trip with your old man, anytime soon?”

 

Kneeling on the floor, in an undignified heap, Connor threw a glare towards Hank, that made the other man only laugh harder.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've only been on a boat once in my entire life and it was pretty fun
> 
> |||| Prompts are very welcome! |||  
> .  
> ||||Please leave a comment if you liked this <3<3!||||


	19. Fear of heights, Pff, who dat?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor isn't afraid of heights.  
> But he is great at lying to himself.

It had been Connor's idea and a stupid one at that. Dragging Hank along to one of the famous  ‘Game Nights’ at Jericho.

Hank had grumbled and complained, but it was no use, Connor kept insisting on it, over and over again, until Hank agreed just to stop him from asking for the 175th time.

 

Jericho had turned from a sad, broken shelter for androids who had nowhere to go, to something better over the months after the revolution.

Cyberlife, trying to get back into the public's favor, had given the ownership of Cyberlife tower to the leaders of Jericho, who had turned the building into a place where androids could live, meet up and find help whenever they needed it.

After a while, humans came along too, making new friends, some seeking a safe place to sleep for the night, all of them, on both sides, breaking down the wall between the two races, bit by bit.

 

Hank still felt out of place. He was 53, grumpy and not the most social person around. He wasn't really the kind of bloke you would expect to sit in a circle, with a few handfuls of others, both androids, and humans, on a collection of beanbags and plush chairs.

 

“Hello everybody, great to see you all again,” Markus, or robojesus, how Hank often referred to him, said, smiling at everybody in turn.

“We have board games, video games, and other fun things to do. Feel free to swarm out and do whatever you feel like.”

 

Androids clustered around desks and couches, playing different games in groups, while some stayed seated in the circle, drawing closer to each other now that there were fewer of them sitting there. Connor stayed too, and Hank didn't feel like getting to know anybody or try to find a way up from the hell that was his beanbag, so he stayed as well.

 

“Alright, you soft walnuts, time to play some two truths and one lie!” North shouted from her beanbag, legs sticking up in the air, hair pooling on the ground. Hank didn't even question the way she was sitting upside down, he had only known her for a few weeks, but it was enough to know that she just rolled that way.

 

Connor cocked his head slightly, his LED blinking yellow. Hank smacked him on the arm.

 

“Stop researchin’ that stuff,” he grumbled, “Just watch 'n learn. No fun if ya google everything.”

 

“I don't use google.”

 

“Shuddup.”

 

North stretched, sliding down on her bean bag until her head rested on the floor.

 

“Ok, half of you look like you've never heard about it, so I go first.”

 

Hank sighed and folded his arms. Seems like this was actually happening.

 

“I have...nine toes, I once kicked a pigeon by accident and I have no idea what a radish is and at this point I'm too afraid to ask,” North grinned, folding her hands,” Now guess which one's the lie.”

 

Faces lit up one after the other as androids understood how the game worked, all of them shouting different things, trying to find the lie.

 

“Bingo!”, North said, pointing at an android with green streaks in his hair. “It's the radish, of course I know what a radish is!”

 

One after the other, humans and androids took turn, trying to fool the others, by picking lies that were believable and truths that were outrageous.

Hank only sighed once it was his turn. He had no way to flee and had long accepted his destiny.

 

“Uh, 'lright...so.. I have a beard, I once drank a whole bottle of detergent, and I've never been to Canada.”

 

Hank couldn't help but be disgruntled when nobody doubted that he had drunk detergent. Well, it was true, but still, he had hoped that he didn't look like somebody who would do that. Connor laughed, patting Hank on the back, a gesture he had picked up from the older man.

 

“You do look like you would risk your health like that, sorry Hank.”

 

Called out by his own son. Rude.

 

Then it was Connor's turn.

He furrowed his brows for a moment before a smile lit up his face.

 

“I have once eaten a tide pod, I have fallen from the 70th floor off a building to my death and I always carry dog treats with me.”

 

Ok, that was easy. Hank found himself shouting along with the others, sure that the middle one had been a lie. Fallen off the 70th floor of a building and died, that was obviously a lie.

Connor just grinned.

 

“Wrong, the lie was that I always carry dog treats with me. I only do that when walking Sumo, there would be no point in always having some on me.”

 

Groans of losing softly melted into a deadly silence as the others slowly realized that Connor had either lied two times or...

 

“Come on Connor! Only one lie, not two!” North groaned.

Connor's smile faded slightly into a strange grimace.

 

“I didn't. I've both eaten a tide pod and fallen from the 70th floor on my first day of activation.”

 

North completely fell off of her bean bag at that.

 

\------

 

“Hank, I don't understand why you are upset?!”

 

Hank ignored him, marching deeper into the building without knowing where exactly he was going. He just needed a breather, just needed a moment to process that his fucking son has _died_ by falling off of a building, and was acting like it was no big deal.

 

“Hank, please, talk to me, it was months ago it has no impact on me or you in any way!”

 

Hank stopped, turning around, his upper lip curling.

 

“No fuckin’ impact!? Are you shittin’ me right now!?”

 

“That would be very unhygienic..”

 

“Don't try to change the fuckin’ subject! Connor, you _died_ by plunging yourself off of a fuckin balcony!”

 

Connor sighed, gritting his teeth.

 

“It was to save the life of a little girl!”

 

“Yeah, we all know that ya love to sacrifice yourself, but that doesn't mean that shit won't leave some kinda fuckin’ trauma!”

 

“I'm not traumatized!”

 

“Oh, like ya aren't still traumatized 'bout feelin’ that Simon guy die?!”

 

Hank almost felt bad about the way Connor flinched at that. It was still a sore spot, even now that Simon has gotten repaired as far as possible and even has forgiven Connor.

 

“That was something different…”

 

“Different my ass.”

 

“..a..and..it's alright now,” Connor worried his lip, cursing himself for stuttering.

 

“Uhu, sure. Like it's alright that ya threw yourself off a buildin’.”

 

“I am _not_ traumatized! If you won't believe me, I will prove it to you!”

 

Furrowing his brows, Hank watched Connor turn on the spot and march in the direction they had come from. Hank could only shake his head and follow, hoping that Connor wouldn't do anything too stupid.

 

Connor walked briskly, without turning around even once, until he reached the nearest elevator door and called it.

 

“So...uh...elevator?” Hank asked, feeling like an idiot. Of course, it was an elevator you stupid, old man, what kind of conversation starter is that?

 

“Yes,” Connor's voice was calm and neutral, the one he always slipped into when he didn't want to show any emotions or when he tried to wall himself off.

 

They waited quietly for the door to open and stepped in.

 

“Floor 79.”

 

Hank grimaced. This was not a good idea, but he knew he wouldn't be able to stop the other.

 

“Con, listen..”

 

“No.”

 

“You don't have to..”

 

The door opened with a ping.

 

“Yes, I have, if that is the only way to show you that I am perfectly alright.”

 

Hank sighed, crossing his arms and followed Connor out of the lift as the doors opened.

This floor was similar to the others, bright colours, curved walls, large windows. Similar, apart from the terrace doors, put in between the windows, leading out onto a viewing platform with a low, metal railing.

 

Connor opened the door without hesitation and stepped outside.

They were really high up, even Hank felt slightly uncomfortable as he peeked through the glass that made up the lower part of the railing.

 

Connor, on the other hand, seemed perfectly alright as he stepped closer to the railing, leaning over it, leaning far over it, dangerously far.

 

“Connor..”

 

“See, I am alright. I can look down, I can lean down, I can spend as mu-...”

 

Then Connor actually looked and his LED lit up a blinding red.

Feeling his head swim, Connor lost all sense of direction.

 

Connor swallowed, feeling artificial saliva pool in his mouth as his stomach lurched, fear, strong enough to make him sick, coursing through him in a sudden, relentless wave.

Suddenly he couldn't breathe anymore, gasping for air as a loud roaring filled his ears, his head feeling as if filled with thick foam, no thought able to penetrate it.

 

He was so high up, so very high up. But he could do this, he was safe, he was alright. Connor gripped the railing hard enough to feel it dent. He was safe, he wouldn't fall, he wouldn't fall again.

 

And then he was falling.

 

He still felt the ground under his feet, but he was falling, falling again, feeling the air whip his hair, the many windows pass him.

He had fallen so fast, and now he was falling faster, he had been calm, accepted his fate, ignored the terror in the back of his mind, but this time it was consuming him.

 

But falling was one thing. Falling wasn't what Connor was truly afraid of. It was almost pleasant, those seconds of flying through cool air, being weightless, physically and mentally, because nothing mattered anymore.

 

No, what Connor was truly afraid off, what he had pushed so deep down in his mind, encrypted over and over again to never remember it, was the impact.

 

He was a state of the art android, all of his senses sharpened as far possible, his processor able to run enough calculations in only a second, to practically stop time.

He had felt everything and he was feeling it again, remembering how a light pressure on his back, his head, his legs, grew in fractions of a moment, how it became unbearable, how his chassis splintered and cracked, how Thirium leaked out of crushed biocomponents, slick and warm.

He remembers shutting down almost immediately, but only almost. Long enough to feel his shattered body, unresponsive, broken, cold, so incredibly cold and alone. So scared, as he felt himself slowly drain out of his own body.

 

And then there was nothing. Just darkness. No memories, no anything. Just to wake up in a new body, remembering every last bit of his fall, but having lost other memories. Why not this one? Why did he have to remember that?!

 

Connor felt himself fall again, knees hitting the ground, a dull sound followed by a breathless whimper, somehow coming from within him, even though he didn't remember making that sound.

 

He felt something touch his shoulder, grab them, hold them, and the terror turned from paralyzing to energizing, his entire body shaking as he fought against the touch. It would push him down, it would push him down and he would fall again. He would die again. He would break and shatter into a million pieces, die alone and scared, and this time he would feel the pain, he would fully feel it. He would break and feel every last crack burn with agony.

 

The sudden touch left and Connor curled in on himself. He had to get away, he had to get to safety.

He looked around frantically with unseeing eyes, trying to find some way to flee from the chasm opening up below his feet.

It took him so long to recognize the door, to long, too long to try and stay calm, to long to get up and walk through.

 

Connor crawled on all fours, stumbling and dragging, collapsing in a heap on the solid floor inside. Hard, unyielding, and so far away from the drop outside.

 

Connor panted hard, arms wrapped around himself, eyes scrunched shut. He could still feel his pump hammer with panic, but slowly his senses were returning to him. He smelled the residue of the floor cleaner, remembered where he was, why he was there.

 

“Oh, kid, why don't you ever listen…”

 

He finally heard a voice through the roar in his ears, almost whining as he recognized it. Hank. Hank was here. Yes, right, Hank was here. Connor was safe. Connor was alright.

 

Fumbling blindly, Connor lunged towards the direction of the voice, just to be caught in two, strong arms, which pulled him against a soft but solid, warm body.

Connor breathed in deeply, letting his sensors analyze the familiar scent, the familiar fabric, the familiar heartbeat. He was safe, he was alright, Hank wouldn't let him fall.

 

“It's alright, son, I've got ya. Just breath.”

 

Connor slowly opened his eyes, shivering as he saw the balcony, turning his head and hiding his face.

 

“I..I didn't like that.”

 

Connor felt the vibrations oh Hank's quiet chuckle.

 

“No shit. You immediately collapsed once ya looked down.”

 

Grimacing Connor bit his lower lip.

 

“I'm..sorry. I shouldn't be so affected by something so long ago.”

 

“Jesus, kid, don't fuckin’ apologize,” Hank pulled Connor closer to him, almost crushing the other with his embrace.”You're allowed to be fuckin’ afraid 'caus of somethin’ like that! I would be more worried if you weren't. You actually, fuckin’ died you idiot, that kinda shit fucks you up. It's alright.”

 

“I...don't want to die again.”

 

Hank sighed, lowering his head to plant a soft kiss on the top of Connor's head.

 

“Nobody wants to.”

 

“I was so...I was so scared. I felt..everything. The way my body broke, the way my blood poured over my face..I..couldn't see, I couldn't do anything!”

 

Connor's voice was quiet, shaking.

 

“I only felt my...everything..my…’me’, slip away, with no way to stop it.”

 

“Fuck, kid..”

 

“Please don't let me fall again, Hank. Please.”

 

Hank closed his eyes as he rested his chin on Connor's head, cradling the other close to his chest.

 

“I won't, I swear.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought of this because I went onto a thing where you could climb around really high up (wearing a safety belt thingy of course) and I used to be terrefied of heights, but I wasnt to scared of them anymore.
> 
> So I thought maybe I wasn't scared of heights at all.
> 
> And I was totally wrong and endet up climbing the whole parkour thing in a state of shock, sweating like never before. Whoops.
> 
> \------
> 
> Please leave a comment if you liked it❤
> 
> And I'm accepting prompts!


	20. Don't drag your son to a bar, come on

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Androids can get drunk, yay!

Connor stared into the glass in his hand, brow furrowing slightly as he contemplated.

 

“Ya know that ya don’t have to do this, right?”

 

Connor looked up, meeting Hank’s gaze, looking down at the drink in the other man’s hand. It was different than his own, amber instead of electric blue, only two fingers of liquid in a short, broad glass, instead of the full, small shot glass Connor was holding.

It was silly, really. Alcohol for androids. Anew pleasure, which humans had been able to enjoy for years and years already, now also available for androids.

No need to be so sceptical about it, no need to overthink it.

But Connor really didn’t know if he should try some.

He had no idea how the effects of what was basically a mix of ethanol, Thirium and some selected minerals, would feel like. He had no idea what kind of drunk he would be.

Connor’s only practical knowledge with drinking was Hank, and Hank was neither a happy drunk nor somebody who was drinking responsibly.

 

Connor frowned.

But Hank had started cutting back, gotten some control over his drinking. So it was possible to not overdo it. It was possible to just get slightly tipsy and relaxed, the same way Hank was right now, sitting next to Connor at the bar of a small but comfortable establishment.

 

“Con? Come on, either drink it or don’t, but stop staring holes into the damn glass.”

 

Connor sighed, took a deep breath, and knocked back the blue liquid in one go.

Just to immediately scrunch up his face, coughing in surprise.

Oh god, it burned. Burning and bitter, a lingering taste and feeling that just wouldn’t leave, numbing his tongue and scratching his throat.

 

Hank laughed as Connor struggled through the flood of new and unpleasant sensations, slapping the top of the counter with his hand.

 

“I don’t see how this is amusing!” Connor choked out. He had deactivated his analyzing function the moment he had swallowed, the streams of data just making the whole experience even more uncomfortable, but even so, his tongue still registered the bitter, burning taste. Connor stuck out his tongue, scratching his teeth over it’s surface.

“This is disgusting!”

 

Hank chuckled. “It is?”

 

“Yes, it is horrible..” Connor said, his frown melting into a grin. “I want another one.”

 

Hank almost lost his balance and toppled down from his chair at that.

 

\------

 

“I don’t think this is working for me..” Connor ran his finger over the rim of his third drink, a fizzing, light blue something that was sweet and sour at the same time, pleasant but chased by the unpleasant burn and bitterness he was starting to get familiar with.

Hank hummed, taking a sip of his own drink, still the first. He wanted to be sober enough to keep an eye on Connor, something the latter really appreciated.

 

“Ya gotta wait. That shit doesn’t hit immediately, ‘specially not when you're sipping it that slowly.”

 

Connor’s LED spun yellow before Hank had registered his mistake and Connor knocked his third drink back in two gulps, ordering a fourth.

Hank didn’t comment, just rolled his eyes and watched, waiting for the android to finally notice that he was more than tipsy already.

 

The fourth glass, another shot, was placed in front of Connor, and he grabbed to take it, missing the glass and dunking his fingers into the liquid. Hank could barely hold back a snort at Connor’s perplexed expression as he stared at his own, wet fingertips.

 

“I don’t understand…” he said, squinting his eyes. “My motor control skills seem to be...something..?”

 

“Something?”

 

“I...my processor is..slower than usual..” Connor blinked owlishly, turning towards Hank with more force than necessary, almost knocking over his glass. “Hank! Am I drunk?”

 

Smiling, Hank shook his head. “Jesus, didn’t expect ya to be that excited ‘bout this. ‘n yeah, yer definitely getting there.”

 

Grinning loopily, Connor shifted in his seat, slouching slightly as he eyed his still full glass.

 

“Maybe go a bit slower.”

 

Connor knocked it back as well, grimacing again at the taste.

 

“Or not...just don’t come cryin’ to me later.”

 

Licking his lips, Connor looked around, his eyes travelling over his surroundings in a lazy sort of fashion.

 

“This iss..fascinating..”

 

“Uhu..?”

 

“I see everythin’...but I don’t.”

 

“I have no fuckin’ idea what yer tryin’ to say.”

 

Connor looked up at the ceiling, blinking slowly, grin still in place.

 

“I can ssee everythin’...but I dunno what the...things are. I jusst see a lamp, no data, no nothing.”

 

Ah. Alright. Data. Hank raised his brows.

 

“What data?”

 

“I..I ssee what things are made outta. Who made them. Who people are... I can scan everythin’, alwayss, but not now…”

 

“So, basically, when ya get drunk, your eyes break? Sounds like the real deal, I’ve not been able to see straight more than once after a few too many drinks.”

 

“Yeahh..” Connor breathed, clearly not listening.

 

Hank smiled into his drink, finishing it and got up with a small groan.

 

“Come on, you electric weirdo, ya had ‘nough, ‘caus I’m definitely not carrying ya home.”

 

“But Haank...I’m not fully drun’ yet..!”

 

“Drunk ‘nough, come on ya can...enjoy the rest of that on the couch at home.”

 

“Haank.!”

 

“Bet Sumo misses ya.”

 

Connor shot off his seat, almost tumbling to the floor, leaning slightly against Hank for support once he found his footing. Luring the drunk guy home through a promise of petting a dog, works every time. Hank ruffled Connor’s hair, guiding him out of the door and out towards the car.

 

Getting Connor home was easier then Hank had expected.

Connor mostly stared out of the window, or rand his hands over various surfaces (including Hank’s face), rambling for the first half of the drive about everything and nothing, jumping from topic to topic like he was in some kind of competition.

Then he became quiet, the smile on his face fading, silently looking out of the window. Hank didn’t need to ask to know what was happening, he had had his own share of those moments where his thoughts had wandered to the worst places, where the alcohol had worsened his mood instead of elating it.

 

Once they finally reached home, Hank parked the car, unlocked the door and steered Connor towards the sofa. Dogs are always great mood raisers, and he wouldn’t have his son drunkenly stewing in his own thoughts. Not in this house!

 

“Sumo. Come here, boy.”

 

Connor immediately perked up at the huff followed by the sound of claws on hard floor, Sumo licked his nose, sniffing Hank’s leg, before letting out a soft sound of greeting and jumping up onto the sofa and immediately licking over Connor’s face.

Hank smiled at his work as Connor let out a surprising burst of static, before petting Sumo with uncoordinated movements, slowly getting pushed onto his back as the giant dog climbed onto his lap.

Kicking off his shoes, Hank let himself fall into his recliner with a yawn.

He just hoped that androids couldn’t get hangovers.

  


The next morning, Hank knew he had been wrong as he woke up to a groaning bundle of Android on his couch.

 

“Told ya not to come cryin’ to me later,” he said as he squeezed himself next to Connor, slowly running his fingers over the other’s scalp to help him through the headache.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> asdfg im so tired


End file.
